A Tangled Web
by Kefe
Summary: An exchange of letters leads to a mistaken identity and an unrequited love, constructed in a web of deceit, woven with love, embedded in desire and sealed in heartbreak. This is the late 1800s and early 1900s. Bella, Edward & Rosalie. AH/OOC.
1. The Illusion of Love

**A/N: Thanks to my lovely ladies for prereading & beta'ing; Ciaobella27, Kuntrygal, Ericastwilight, Hallie Black, Phoenixhunter47 & TwiDi. You complete me. **

**Dedicated to my friend, Pree for her birthday. She wanted a Mujshe Dosti Karoge meets Twilight fic, and I came up with this. **

**Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. **

* * *

The Illusion of Love

You can make out the shape of a shadow, you can see the outline but you can't really see the image. It's like a sketch before a painting is created. Like a musical piece; you can hear the soft sweet melody but you can't really see the notes behind it, except you're the musician.

You don't know what bag of tricks a magician carries; all you see is the illusion.

_"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we first practice to deceive" – Sir Walter Scott_

* * *

_Forks Village, October 1897. _

_A little after dark. _

A family was moving to England. Wishes of farewell floated in the air as friends said their goodbyes in front of their gate. Wives hugged one another and kisses were placed on cheeks. Men shook hands in firm grips with promises to see each other again.

"Mama, please may I say goodbye to Edward also?" Isabella Swan tugged on her mother's skirts, her fingers wrapping around the slippery green silk.

"Isabella, it is late. You should be in bed by now, where is Alice?" Lady Swan chastised her young daughter before holding her hand and walking towards the gate in search of their chambermaid, Alice.

"You have been a good friend, Carlisle, We are sad to you see you go." Charlie Swan pulled his best friend into a tight hug, before brushing his fingers against his mustache. He was not one to show emotion but the loss of his best friend was breaking his strong emotional gates this windy evening. "Do get in contact with us and let us know of your whereabouts and how things are progressing."

Isabella's eyes drifted away from the two grown men and stopped when she spotted the little boy with bronze hair, standing in front of her best friend. She quickly removed her hands from her mother's grip and ran toward them.

"Rosalie," the chubby boy called with shyness imprinted in his voice. "You will write to me, soon?" He looked at the small goddess with hope as she kicked a pebble on the ground.

"I cannot promise you anything, Edward. I do not even have the facilities for writing. Papa would not allow me to send a letter all the way to England." Rosalie Hale pushed her beautiful golden locks out of her face.

"Papa has things for writing in his den. I can provide you with the materials, if you like," Isabella chipped into the conversation, hoping to wipe away the sadness drawn across Edward's face.

"That is perfect!" A smile fell upon his lips as he took Rosalie's small fingers in his palm. "I shall write to you as soon as we get to England, and that way we can always stay friends." His eyes glistened with hope.

"Okay," Rosalie sighed with boredom.

"Edward, boy come here, we are leaving!" Lady Cullen called out as Edward pressed a kiss on the back of Rosalie's hand before running to the direction of the brown carriage.

Isabella looked at the carriage as the horses galloped into the dark night.

He did not even look at her.

He did not even say goodbye.

And she had been standing right there and yet, he had not noticed her. All he could ever see was her best friend, who did not feel one fourth of what she felt for him.

~o~

_Lord Hale's Residence, July 1898._

"What is that?" Isabella pointed to the light brown envelope sitting comfortably on top of Rosalie's mahogany desk.

"A letter, what does it look like?" Rosalie answered rhetorically.

"From Edward?" Isabella asked, walking toward the desk and picking up the envelope.

"I think so," Rosalie replied, gazing out the window. Her eyes were resting on a specific young boy trying to play sword fight with one of the stablemen.

"Will you not write him back?" She stole a glance at her friend, before diverting her brown eyes back to the envelope.

She looked at Isabella, "And what shall I say? All he keeps talking about is how England is so beautiful, it is boring. Not that he was ever one to be interesting." She turned her hazel eyes back to the field. "I have better things to invest my time with."

Isabella tore the golden seal of the envelope and opened the letter. Her face brightened with a smile when her eyes fell upon the disorganized writing of the letter. Words were jumbled up everywhere and a blot of ink decorated the side.

_Rosalie, _

_I have written to you on three separate occasions and not one reply has reached my door. I hope you are in receipt of my letters. England is amazing. It is summer here and so the flowers are bright, colorful and beautiful…which reminds me so much of you. _

_Father sends his greetings. How is home? I miss everyone, including you. _

_Write me soon. _

_Love, Edward._

Isabella folded the letter and placed it back neatly into the envelope. "You should write back, mama says it is impolite to ignore people. And he is really charming."

"If you are so concerned, why do you not write to him?" Rosalie got up from the bed. "I am going outside, join me if you choose." She walked out of the room, leaving Isabella and her thoughts alone.

Isabella thought of how Edward would feel about not getting a reply from Rosalie. It was quite obvious that Rosalie had no interest in writing him, and she could not help but feel a sense of guilt if he felt disappointed.

So, she did what she thought she could never do. She crossed the passageway linking the houses of the Hales and the Swans, and made a trip to her father's den. Charlie and Renee had left for a meeting with the town's council at Court, and Alice was nowhere to be found.

All she had to do was enter inside, write the letter, and give it to Alice to drop in the box for the mail man to pick up. She was grateful that her father had not locked the den. She strode quietly into the big room and went straight for the quill lying on a stack of papers.

She picked a sheet of paper and sat on the floor, pondering on what to reply to Edward. She dipped the quill in ink and began to write.

_Dear Edward, _

_I am so glad to have received your letter. I have been waiting for it since you left for England. Perhaps the other letters you sent got lost during their journey. _

_I am happy to learn that you are enjoying England. It is quite sunny here too. Although, I do not see many flowers because mama forbids us from going too far._

_Home is fine. Everyone misses you and so do I. _

_Hope to hear from you soon, _

_Isabella._

Isabella looked at the words she had written. Something did not quite sound right. She drew three straight lines on top of her name and wrote Bella instead. But it still did not feel write.

_Would he really read it and be happy if it were from me?_ The question interrupted her thoughts.

If any letter was to be delivered to him, he would have been expecting the sender to be Rosalie, not her. He had not even asked about her in the letter he wrote.

He would also be disappointed if he found out Rosalie had rejected his letter and sent her best friend to reply.

With those thoughts swimming in her head, Isabella took another sheet of plain paper and copied the same exact letter but added a different name at the end.

_Rosalie._

* * *

"Bella!" Alice shouted after the sixteen year old girl as she chased her down the long hallway of the mansion. "You cannot run around the house with sand all over your shoes. The servants and Lady Swan will not be happy about this. These floors were just mopped," Alice almost cried in frustration as Isabella disappeared into her room.

Isabella held the letter close to her beating heart as she waited for her breathing to regulate. She had not heard from Edward for three months. She had wondered if something bad had happened to him, or if he had given up hope to hear from Rosalie. Or if he was simply ignoring her like Rosalie had ignored him. Or perhaps he had noticed the difference in her handwriting, and had known that Rosalie would never be that sweet toward him. She had not known.

But here she stood against the wooden door of her room and tried to calm herself. She needed to be in the right frame of mind before reading his letter. She needed her heart to be stable so it could capture his words.

She needed to calm down so she could know if he had seen beyond the ink, and if he still wanted to acknowledge her.

So, she waited with baited breath as Alice pounded her fists on the door.

"I will speak to your mother about this!" Alice's voice shouted from the other side of the door.

She gently and ever so slowly, tore open the envelope. She almost gasped as she saw whose name was written above the paper in bold print, like he had been tracing it with his pen, over and over again.

_My lovely Rosalie, _

She felt a wave of different emotions at that name. Firstly, he had not recognized her – for that, she felt disappointed. Secondly, he had replied her letter with so much adoration that he had adjoined Rosalie's name to a passionate adjective – Lovely.

_It has taken me a great deal to write this to you. First and foremost, I was so sure you were not going to write back after my last three failed attempts. But now that you have, I cannot express how much joy I feel at the sight of your letter. This way we can always be friends._

_It is already snowing here. So much has changed these past months; I am taking piano lessons to improve my musical skills. Father says it will take the stress away from school. _

_The piece that most captures my heart and makes me think of you is _Moonlight Sonata _by Beethoven. You may not know who Beethoven is as you are unfamiliar with the arts but Isabella knows. The first time father played it, I could not stop thinking about how soothed and relaxed it made me feel, in much the same way you do. Might I suggest you listen to it and think of me playing it for you, even though my presence is not there. _

_I have to go now. We are preparing to go to church. The cathedral here is quite beautiful. _

_Hope to hear from you soon, until then…* mea anima est cum te. _

_Love, Edward._

Isabella read the third paragraph again and again, allowing the words to melt in her heart. She made it a mission to find someone who knew that melody that made Edward think of her.

Well, not exactly _her_ per se…he _was_ thinking of Rosalie.

She tried to push away the feeling of disappointment that tugged her heart. She wondered if she should show Rosalie the letter but then decided against it. Rosalie would not care for it and she was sure, she would disregard the letter like she had dismissed the previous ones. So she kept it to herself.

"Will you open the door for me?" Alice's voice brought her out of her daze as she turned the golden knob and let her in. "What is the matter with you? Now go in and take a bath before you come down for dinner. You smell of horses and they cannot know I took you riding."

"Will the Hales be joining us for dinner?" Isabella asked; taking off the front fastening cream gown as Alice pulled off her white stockings.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, now go. Your parents will be here soon. I do not want to get into trouble." Alice turned on the silver tap and ran the hot water.

"Do you love him?" asked Isabella as she remembered the intensity that passed on between Jasper Whitlock and her maid.

"You are too young to know matters of the heart, child. You cannot understand what a complicated emotion like love is. Now stop this idle chatter and enter the bath or they will have me punished."

* * *

_*Mea anima est cum te - My heart is with you. _

**_Thank you for reading!_**


	2. Hiding Behind A Mask

**A/n: Thanks to my awesome, fantastic ladies: Ciaobella27, Hallie Black, Phoenixhunter47 & TwiDi for all their amazing help!**

**For my friend, Pree. **

**Disclaimer: I still DO NOT OWN THIS.**

* * *

Hiding Behind a Mask

If we could all choose the one we love, life would be so much easier, for we would choose the exotic, most beautiful human being. We would be blinded by what's on the outside that we wouldn't dig deep below the surface to find the treasures hidden on the inside.

The inside is what makes a person beautiful, for the insides are what make us who we truly are behind the mask.

_"To be your friend was all I ever wanted; to be your lover was all I ever dreamed."_ - _Valerie Lombardo_

* * *

"_October 1898: _

_Dear Edward, _

_It has practically been a year since you left, and yet I feel as though nothing has changed. I have grown a year older, and I am taking riding lessons from Isabella's maid, Alice. So I now know how to ride a horse. _

_Oh, papa would be so appalled by this news, pray, do not tell._

_Alice's lover taught her how to ride and she has taught me. I spend most of my time with them. _

_They try to conceal their affection toward each other, but it is indeed there. I see it in the way he looks at her with longing, and when they think I am not looking, he kisses her. I asked her if she loved him, but she says I am too young to understand. I may be young, but I do know that if papa were to hear of this, she would be banished from Forks immediately. A love cannot transpire between a maid and a lord. Even I know this._

_But I believe a secret kept between two lovers such as love should not let the world's teeth claw at it, and tear such a precious bubble apart. _

_I was assigned to another governess. She is trying to teach me the skills of sewing. I pierced my finger with a needle once, Alice laughed at me before cleaning the blood. I also heard the beautiful lullaby you told me about in your last letter. I cannot stop humming the tune._

_She is also sharing her knowledge on the violin. _

_Sometimes, we read and discuss literature. _

_We talked about Romeo and Juliet. The governess believes that because they were children, they died out of _ignorance _and _stupidity_. I tried to explain to her that love does not depend on age. And that Romeo could not live in a world where there was no Juliet. She highly disagrees; well I think she is just a bitter old woman. After all she is two and forty, and alone. Perhaps time has changed her prospect of love._

_So have you made any friends? _

_Wish to hear from you soon._

_Yours unconditionally, _

_Rosalie. _

Isabella dropped the quill on top of the stack of papers she had stolen from her father's den before looking back at her long letter. She had gotten so carried away with her thoughts that as she stared at the letter she felt completely horrified. Had she gone too far? Had she said too much? Writing to him was like writing in a journal, where she deposited her daily activities and her hidden secrets. It was just so natural to share her feelings on paper. She didn't want to scare him off with her words.

Isabella knew she couldn't write the letter again, for it would seem scripted and unreal because she would be focusing on every single detail and worrying if she got it right. Also including the fact that her mother was going to walk into her bedroom and make sure she had been put to bed, instead of thinking of Edward. So she folded the letter into a rectangle and placed it in the small white envelope, writing Edward's name at the back of it before blowing off the flame burning on the candle.

That night her dreams were assaulted by a cute chubby boy kissing her cheek.

~*&*~

_January 1899,_

"Oh, do you know what I heard today whilst walking on the streets on the way to the market?" Rosalie's words floated and echoed off the walls of the long and vacant hallway.

"What did you hear?" Isabella asked her friend, pulling on the long white net gloves that were making her hands feel uncomfortable.

"Miss Mallory is getting married to Lord Fauquont on Saturday evening," Rosalie whispered.

"What?" Isabella said with a gasp.

"Yes, now shush," Rosalie admonished, turning around and glancing if anyone had heard them. "The news has been carried all over town and Lord Fauquont has already paid the family," she continued as Isabella opened the door to her room.

"But she is only one and six, and she does not love him."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "So what Isabella? Why do you like living in a world of fantasies? He is rich and owns ten thousand dollars – he is a lord. He is providing her with much more than protection and wealth."

"But he is one and thirty,"

"Marriage knows no age. Besides she is lucky to claim a husband who is a lord, by the time we reach five and twenty, there will be no more lords to marry," Rosalie said, sitting on top of the bed. "No more rich lords to marry, that is,"

"So you want to get married soon?" Isabella walked over to her desk and picked up her drawing book with a pencil.

"If there is a willing lord, yes. I am tired of being a burden to father, he loves me but it is too much responsibility."

"If you leave him, he will be lonely." Isabella started to sketch the lines of Rosalie's face.

"If I leave him, he will have more money. Court is taking most of it. His assets are not enough. We will soon be penniless; I do not want us to live at that small village close to Salinas. I am a lady and ladies are not supposed to be destitute, it is completely unheard of."

"Papa will allow you stay with us."

"And allow all of court to hear that? Absolutely not," Rosalie said distastefully with a look of disapproval. "We will be the laughing stock for the whole of Forks."

Isabella almost fought the urge to roll her eyes at her friend's remark. Rosalie had always been strong headed, her hard exterior was impossible to deal with at times. But Isabella was always patient with her friend, and Rosalie knew she could always count on her, although she'd never really admit to it.

"So how is 'writing boy'?" Rosalie asked with a smile on her face, as Isabella started shading her hazel eyes with more enthusiasm. "Oh dear heavens," Rosalie continued. "You do not have affection for this boy, do you?"

"No," Isabella quickly denied, looking up from her book. "No, no. We are friends and that is all."

"Good, it would be bad to take something so serious when he is so far away. Besides, you are not one to lend yourself to fondness over something. You are always reading, or drawing or doing what proper ladies do; far too busy to be corrupted by such a strong emotion like love. Love does not exist in your world."

Isabella took no offence to that comment even though it stung a little. Perhaps if it was someone else who had said that, she would be completely offended but not Rosalie. It was typical of Rosalie to say that. Rose did not believe in love, she did not believe in magic either, or fairytales and Prince Charming. She believed in things she saw and felt and things that could be proven. She had seen how love had torn her father apart, and she had simply decided not to acknowledge its existence. Love for the family was present in her books, but love for a man, the intense passion that drove a man and a woman wild, simply ceased to exist. She chose to avoid it and prevent it from ruining her own heart.

So Isabella did not respond and instead, she focused on the drawing of her beautiful best friend.

*&*

_February 1899:_

_My dearest Rosalie,_

_I am terribly sorry for the delay in getting this to you. School has required much more of my time than I had hoped. I cannot express my full apologies, only to say that I will endeavor to make it up to you._

_I have made a new friend here; he goes to the same school as me. His name is Emmett and he is huge and too boisterous for his age. I also got to taste peanut brittles. Unfortunately, my tolerance for peanuts is very low. I was confined to bed for weeks, it was awful. But I shall send some for you – that is of course, if you would like. _

_So you know how to ride a horse? That is extraordinary; I think I should like a woman who covets adventure._

_It is sad to know about Alice and Jasper but I am sure (one way), he will be able to work it out. I believe love always succeeds in the end. _

_I am sorry for your finger, perhaps a few kisses from me will make it better? _

_I have not engaged myself in any reading of the sort, apart from the medical books stacked in father's study. I shall ask him to inform me about Romeo and Juliet and get on it as fast as I can. _

_You write with so much passion and intelligence; as much as Isabella. Not that I doubt your intelligence of course, I have just never been given the opportunity to experience it. It is beautiful. _

_I am glad that you are also musically erudite. Perhaps, we shall make great music together someday. _

_I have to go now, school awaits. I do not want to wear one of those hats with the word _'dunce'_ on it. They made a lad wear that one day, it was inappropriate and I do not ever wish to find myself in such a situation. _

_It is with my last resolve that I abandon this letter now. Please do know that I will be thinking of you always. _

_Yours, _

_Edward. _

Isabella finished reading the letter for the second time and then placed it on her heart. She was not sure whether to cry or laugh at the letter. Edward was just as passionate as her, except he was passionate for the wrong woman.

_I think I should like a woman who covets adventure._ Those words cut through her as she stared at the high ceilings of her bedroom with the candle light illuminating the darkness.

She was never adventurous, she never even saw herself that way. Rosalie was the true definition of someone who was adventurous. She, on the other hand, was the good girl who had only been corrupted for a brief moment by Alice and her lover.

_You write with so much passion and intelligence; as much as Isabella_

He had mentioned her name. Isabella did not know whether to feel joy or pain. He had somehow seen through her writing but still bounced back to whom he so desired. What game was she playing at? She was placing her finger in fire. She was putting her heart in jeopardy by doing this. The love that had blossomed in her chest had already gone far too deep. But then what had she expected? Her letters were different from Rosalie but it was Rosalie's name signed at the bottom.

_Not that I doubt your intelligence of course, I have just never been given the opportunity to experience it. _

A bubble of laughter rumbled through her chest as her other hand clutched the pillow beside her. Rosalie would have thought that statement was an insult instead of a compliment.

_I am sorry for your finger, perhaps a few kisses from me will make it better? _

Oh what she wouldn't give to hear him say those words to her. Would it be too painful to actually dream of him kissing her finger?

Isabella could muster no strength to consider writing, by way of return, to Edward that night. She ached already at the sweet words that had been in his letter. Isabella did not know if she would hurt Edward if she wrote the truth and mentioned that it was her who wrote those letters. She did not want to feel rejected, nor did she want Edward to stop writing the words that made her feel somewhat loved, but still heartbroken.

Love was definitely not easy.

~*&*~

_April 1899, _

"You cannot send a long letter this time Isabella," Alice reprimanded as she scraped the underside of the nib of the goose feather flat. "The last letter you sent, you may have well told him your whole life in it. If you are going to write a long letter, you better crosslink it," she hissed, placing the underside on the end of the smooth desk and scraping the topside to have a thin tip.

"Crosslink?" Isabella almost gasped.

Isabella thought of how her words would drain up every modicum of space. The ink soaking into hatched markings across the page, causing Edward to block the unwanted letters from the ones he was reading. It would create too much work for his poor eyes.

"Edward would never be able to read it if it were crossed."

"Edward will also never see your letters again if they were more than a page. You are exceedingly lucky that your father pays for all his letters to have an envelope. These things are costly." She dropped the quill which now had a sharp nib for writing on top of Isabella's desk. "Write. I shall be outside until you are done."

"Thank you Alice, please will you teach me how to make quills?"

"Perhaps. And you are welcome." And with that Alice shut the door and left Isabella to write.

_Forks, April 1899:_

_Dear Edward, _

_It fills me with great joy to know that you have made a friend there. I would not want you to feel lonely. _

_Loneliness kills a man's soul and dims the light to the chambers of his heart, leaving a hollow in its awake. You should not have to be lonely, my dear friend. It is better to have the company of people than to have the company of silence. _

_You could never be a dunce. You have the mind of a tiger; vicious and steadfast. It is the reason why you chose medicine, is it not? _

_Young doctor Edward, the ladies shall be pining for you in England with your irresistible charm and your wisdom. Fear not, I shall sit here, back against the curtains and watch with jealousy in my eyes as you flirt your way through the crowd. _

_Your birthday is almost here. I guess it would be quite appropriate to call you a gentleman now. I send a gift along with this letter. It is a picture of me, to keep you warm on those cold nights. And although spring is fast approaching, should you seek warmth, think of me._

_I am sorry that I was not there to tend to your illness. I should tell you that if you were to send me any brittles I should decline for fear of it tainting the finger you would kiss. I would despise being responsible for your ill health. _

_Take care dear friend, I wish to hear from you soon._

_Yours unconditionally, _

_Rosalie. _

She dropped the quill and let the nib rest on top of the jar of ink. Isabella's fingers were stained with ink but she ignored them. She picked up her drawing book and flitted through the pages. Her drawing book had always contained the sketches of her family, Alice, Jasper and Rosalie. Isabella had never drawn one of herself. She stopped at the page which had a drawing of Rosalie's back and she could not think of any other gift to give Edward.

Isabella looked at the cascade of Rosalie's blonde hair peeking out of her bonnet. Her shoulders were covered in a shawl that Isabella could not recall the color of it. Even looking at this mere rough sketch of Rosalie's back, she still looked beautiful. Isabella then decided to send it along with the letter. She knew Alice was going to protest against it but Edward needed to have a gift from her for his birthday.

So she smiled and folded the drawing paper into a hawk envelope before placing the letter inside.

~*&*~

"Papa and I had a sort of disagreement last night," Rosalie said as she and Isabella strolled through the maze that led to the meadow.

The atmosphere felt damp on their skin. Spikes of short grasses clung to their beautiful dresses while their shoes were ruined in mud. They were going to get into trouble for leaving the manor. Isabella had not wanted to leave but Rosalie had suggested it, claiming she needed the walk.

"He called me _inept_ and _cantankerous_, whatever that might mean." Rosalie pulled some long grasses out of her way – her gloves were almost ruined.

"Cantankerous; meaning _disagreeable to deal with_," Isabella informed, dodging a pool of muddy water on the ground.

"Ah, Isabella, why am I not surprised? Could you be any smarter?" Rosalie teased, nudging her friend with her gloved knuckles. Isabella laughed as they continued fighting for their way through the grass. "Perhaps if you were my father's daughter, he need not be so angry all the time. He fired the sixth governess yesterday. I believe no other governess has made me more furious in my life."

"Oh dear, what could she have done this time?"

"She said I was _scandalous_," Rosalie said with disgust rolling on the tip of her tongue.

"I believe that properly describes you." Isabella smiled in jest.

"Oh hold your tongue." Her friend could not stop the smile that spread her lips. "I will not tolerate anyone who dares call me that. Although, she did catch me kissing Seth at the barn–"

"What?" Isabella's eyes grew wide as huge saucers, as she stopped and stared at her friend in utter bewilderment.

"Hold your horses' dear friend," Rosalie laughed, holding her skirts. "It was a chaste kiss on the lips and nothing more."

"Rosalie Hale!" Isabella paused and held her chest in shock. "We are supposed to only be–"

"Goodness gracious, tell me that I am not to be arrested for a common kiss on the lips. No tongue was even involved." A smile was hanging at the corner of her lips.

Rosalie never blushed, unlike Bella who would have probably turned different shades of pink at this revelation.

"Seth Bates, the barn boy? What on earth were you doing at Lord Whitlock's stables?"

"I thought I saw your maid entering his manor. It was only natural that I followed them."

"And then you fell on Seth's lips and kissed him?" Isabella laughed with ridicule, diverting the track of conversation away from Alice and Jasper.

Alice had asked that Isabella kept her rendezvous a secret, and although she felt bad for not sharing the news with Rosalie, she simply could not betray her friend. After all, Alice had helped her sneak her letters for Edward. They both had an understanding.

"Seth has paid me special attention for a few months. I do not have any affection toward him but he is warm and kind. Ladies do not fall for barn boys, it was merely curiosity that drove the meeting and it shall not happen again. But I think he is rather in love with me."

"Oh, who is not Rosalie?"

"I wish to be no one's inamorata and simply cannot accept any of his advances anymore," she said as they got to the meadow.

"And the kiss?" Isabella plucked some branches out of her way and almost cursed when a smudge of mud stuck to her black gloves.

"I shall try it again and this time, properly," Rosalie giggled as they both walked to the middle of the meadow.

~*&*~

_July 1899:_

_My sweetest Rosalie, _

_That drawing of you is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes upon, even though I was not granted the opportunity to see your face. Why do you hide from me, my love? _

_I shall have you know that one, such as I, cannot feel lonely when one has letters from you. They are the highlight of my life. My heart races at the thought of receiving a letter from you. _

_What feelings you have ignited in my dear body, my love, the feelings that make me burn at the thought of holding you in my arms. Oh! This distance is too much to bear. I long to say what my heart whispers and plant a thousand kisses upon you in return. My dear Rosalie, do not tempt me with such passion. _

_There are no ladies as beautiful as you, here to catch my eye. My love for you forbids that I dare look at another woman. _

_My birthday was glorious! The Duke of Devonshire, Edward Cavendish, came to my revelry. He gave me a surgical knife, Rosalie. My very first surgical knife. Father could not have been more delighted. _

_I shall go to bed with thoughts of you in my heart and when I close my eyes, I shall see your face. _

_Yours, _

_Edward._

Isabella thought she would cry.

Isabella had forgotten her name.

Isabella had forgotten many things as two remarkable words filled with pure adoration danced in her mind _'my love'_. Was it possible to be killed by a letter? Was it possible to be killed by Edward Cullen's words?

She had not known how much joy could consume her at the very thought of him professing how her letters were significant to him. She did not even hold a thread of contempt at the sight of Rosalie's name. Nothing was stopping her from relishing this moment.

She had written her last letter with a lot of passion that she had hoped he'd see through. He had not seen through the glass yet but his words captivated her. She almost thought her poor heart could not handle the wave of happiness that devoured her.

_My love for you forbids that I dare look at another woman. _

Oh, if only it were true. If only he returned and regarded her as someone worthy of his love, she would indeed be the happiest woman alive.

In that moment, she accepted and embraced the fact that she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

* * *

_**Thank you for the lovely reviews & also for reading.** _


	3. Love & Desire

**A/N: Thanks to my wonderful ladies for pre-reading & beta'ing: Ciaobella27, TwiDi, Mrs Boyscout & Phoenixhunter47. Couldn't do it without all of your help. **

**Dedicated to my friend, Pree. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. Well, apart from Mark. Everything else belongs to their various owners. **

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Love & Desire

When we are in love, our hearts are in the hands of our beloved and because of this we are left vulnerable to them. The idea that our beloved has the power to make or break us creates doubts and insecurities in our mind.

The way a man falls in love with a woman is different from the way she falls for him. A man, who hasn't had the opportunity of delving into the mind of his beloved, will merely be attracted to what she looks like at first glance. And so it will be, until he peels away each layer and gets to the core that makes her very special and truly beautiful.

_"The most precious possession that ever comes to a man in this world is a woman's heart." - Josiah G. Holland_

* * *

_November 1899. _

Rosalie pulled the black hood of her cloak over her head to obscure her face as she snuck out of her room. She padded down the dark hallway, hoping her boots did not make noise as they battered down the wooden floors. Her heart hammered in her chest as she passed her father's room, hearing his loud snores drift from his bedchamber.

She tried not to lose her footing as she scurried down the stairs and walked straight through the maid's quarters. Her hands grabbed onto the black, heavy metal latch and pulled it. Rose opened the door with shaky fingers and was welcomed into the cold, dark night.

She felt victory as she escaped the premises of the Hale Manor and scampered off into the streets, holding her skirts and following the empty road all the way to the Whitlock's mansion.

"Psst," she hissed, an opaque wisp exhaling from her lips. "Seth, are you there?" she called as she looked through the door scope for any sign of him.

"Rosalie?" his sleepy voice asked in bewilderment, as he stood up from his bed and walked to the door.

"Do not call my name you fool!" she hissed, glancing around for anyone in sight who might have heard him. When she was satisfied that there was no one around, she turned back to him. He had opened the door and was standing by the side of it, ushering her in.

"I thought you were not supposed to make it until–" he tapered off as he rubbed his eyes, eliminating any lingering traces of sleep now that Rosalie had taken her hood down, and the door had been closed.

"Are you going to waste this precious time by talking or are you going to kiss me?" Her pink, plump lips curved into a sinful smile that only served to stir Seth from sleep to full consciousness.

He grabbed her face with his two hands, sketching it with his palms as he drew her closer to plant his lips on hers. Rosalie closed her eyes as his tongue caressed her lower lip, making her senses spin. His left hand shifted and grabbed her shoulder with force and pulled her, yielding body to his. Seth's calloused hands roamed her body under the cloak, gliding down her waist all the way to her thighs. His fingers stroked her soft, creamy skin, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Rosalie melted in his arms as the desire crushed her, and she was reminded of exactly why she always came to him.

~o~

_Dearest Edward, _

_Oh, you are far too kind to compliment my beauty from only the sketch of a drawing. Would showing my face not spoil the anticipation of having you wait years to see it? When you arrive, it shall give me the pleasure of discovering if you can match my dear words to my face. _

_For now, I shall plead to be anonymous to you in that aspect. _

_Your letters give me great joy Edward, a greater joy than I am allowed to feel at the sight of them. _

_And you should also not tempt me with amorous words that you know a foolish girl such as me would believe and take to heart. My poor heart cannot stand false desires from you. So dear friend, it is I who is in much danger of falling for you._

_I am glad that your birthday was glorious, perhaps a little of your celebration could infuse mine. _

_Forks is as grey as ever, even more so without your presence._

_I hope to hear great stories from you soon. _

_Yours unconditionally, _

_Rosalie. _

Isabella looked at her letter and felt contentment at the words she had written. Yes, Edward had professed his love for her, but she did not want to feel foolish for reciprocating those same words with affection.

However, she did indeed feel foolish for even writing the letter in the first place. Her heart could only handle so much.

"Alice, I have a question," she said, dropping the quill on top of her drawing book.

"Ask," Alice responded, as she continued braiding the curls of Isabella's long brown hair.

"What effect does love have on you?" she asked, as Alice paused and stared at Isabella's head.

She had not been anticipating that kind of question from Isabella, and so she was a little bit shocked. "I am not sure what you mean by 'effect'," Alice said, as she resumed the task of braiding once again.

"I think I should rephrase this." Isabella thought of a different approach to the conversation she had started. "How does love make you _feel_?" She chewed her lip, hoping that Alice would not consider her a child and decide not to answer.

"Well…" Alice trailed off, looking for the words to describe what it felt like for her. "I cannot exactly say. There are so many feelings that come with it. There is the pleasure I get when I see his face. When I look into his eyes, it is as if there is no other thing in the room, just me and him. His look says a thousand words without him uttering one. And when he touches me, I swear I get shocked by a sudden jolt that spreads and brightens almost every nerve in my body." Alice smiled as a picture of Jasper's face danced in her memory. "It is not like anything I have ever experienced before."

Isabella smiled at Alice's words, but then her face crumpled into a frown. Perhaps the feelings that she had toward Edward were not of love. She had dreamed of touching Edward, but he hadn't touched her in order for her to feel the kind of jolt that passed between two lovers. He didn't even know that she possessed such strong feelings for him.

"May I confide in you, Alice?"

"Go on."

"I know you once told me that I do not know what love is; and maybe that is true. Maybe what merely resides in my heart is of a different kind of affection. But one day, I was reading one of Sappho's poems and could not help but relate to how she felt about her lover."

"And who is Sappho?" Alice inquired with a confused brow. Alice had not been provided with the benefits of reading books or poetry; they were activities that only ladies usually engaged in. And after all, she was just a maid. It was not her business to learn about such things, unless her employer requested it.

"Sappho is a Greek poet of the sixth century who wrote very passionate love poems. And in one of her poems, she described her feelings for her lover. It was very intense." Isabella paused, getting lost in her thoughts. "He does not love me. He loves someone more beautiful. Someone who would not recognize his heart in an instant, even with her eyes open. I love him, but he will never know, and even if he does, it is not me he seeks. Yet, I cannot find the will to stop writing to him. I know I should. I know what I do is immoral behavior, and if mama heard of this she would be disappointed. But I simply cannot stop. Because I know every time he would be expecting something written from _her_ and my heart simply cannot stand the disappointment he would feel if he receives nothing."

Isabella released a sigh, "You must think I am insane." She tucked an escaped tendril at the back of her ear.

"No, I do not." Alice placed a hand on her shoulder. "You _are_ in love," she said with a sympathetic smile. "But you will have to let him know one day Bella. You cannot escape it. He has to know you have these feelings and he has to know it before he finds out that it is _you_ writing the letters."

Isabella exhaled and shuddered at the thought of Edward finding out. She did not think that she could face him if he ever did. However, she was going to tell him..._sometime, _but not now. Now, she would send the letter to him and bask in the borrowed elation that he loved Rosalie, who in another world was her.

~o~

_January 1900,_

_My darling Rosalie, _

_I am most undeniably upset that you think my desires toward you are of falsehood. Do you not know how much I have longed for you? My ardor for you has long been present before you ever spoke of yours, my love. _

_I feel grief toward the notion that you hold consciously in your mind that I will not be able to match your words to your face. What difference could there be in the two? Yes, the beauty of your face is a mystery for it must have changed with that of time. However, your words and you are one. You are a part of me, my dear; I will be able to recognize you in an instant once I return home. Do not underestimate me, my love. _

_Tempt not a desperate man! As Romeo once said._

_I wish to hear those words you write with your bare hands soon, for they are the food to my poor soul. _

_Until then, my Rosalie, I shall think of nothing but you in my arms._

_Yours always, _

_Edward._

* * *

"I am thinking of suitors for Isabella," Renee Swan said, as she placed her expensive pearl necklace in her jewelry box. She turned to her husband, who was using his reading spectacles to read a column in the Forks Inquirer. He was so invested in the news about the invention of light bulbs (so he could finally stop using dim candles to read in the dark) and was too intrigued by the idea of using telephones and automobiles, that he did not pay attention to what his dear wife had just said.

But this did not stop Renee from continuing her conversation. "She is maturing and turning into a beautiful woman." She walked towards the bed to join her husband, "She turns eighteen this year." She smiled proudly, as Lord Swan lowered his newspaper to glance at her, "I think that she is ready for a betrothal."

"The final age to consider marriage is five and twenty. I believe she has more time and I am sure she will not be too old by then. She is as beautiful as her mother," he added for Renee's benefit, as if that would dissipate the look of horror that had come over her face.

"What?" She exclaimed in disbelief as she stared at her husband, who had gone back to imagining the possibility of communicating with someone in England from Forks without sending a telegram. _Oh, what joy! _he thought. _The 20__th__ Century was looking better and better each day_.

"You want her to wait till the age of five and twenty?" she asked, incredulously. "Have you no fear that Forks would be out of suitors by then?"

Of course, this reason did not deter him as much as it did his wife. As far as he was concerned, Isabella was his only child and if there was no other man to take care of her, he would gladly continue his job as her father. It pained him to think of her leaving him, especially when there was no one else to balance the ludicrousness his wife sometimes exhibited.

However, he tried his best to calm her down by saying, "I am very sure Forks will not be out of suitors by then. Men cannot _miraculously_ disappear from the surface of the earth. Surely, if that were to happen, other men will migrate just as they migrated from Britain," he said, trying to be comical.

"You must have lost your mind!"

And that was also one of the reasons why he needed Isabella here. Who else would find humor in his jokes? Charlie sighed and dropped the newspaper on the bed. Sometimes, his wife did not understand when he just wanted to _read_. If he did not keep up with the news, how was he ever going to catch up with court?

"My darling," he started, only to be cut off by Renee's raging.

"No this is highly unacceptable!" She threw her hands dramatically in the air. "We cannot allow our daughter to be one of those girls who marries at an advanced age. I understand that she is a Lady and she does not need the money, but still. She cannot be the only woman in Forks who is without a husband."

Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes, "She will not be." He rubbed his head. "At least let her reach eighteen."

"Good!" Renee huffed as she got under the thick covers and lay beside her husband. "I will think of sons of our friends that she can find similar interests with. And then we can consider what happens next."

Charlie did not want to hear his wife continue on with her rampage, so he decided to agree with her in order to sleep peacefully.

~o~

_May 1900._

Rosalie Hale stood in front of the full length mirror, admiring her hour glass figure. Her eyes surveyed her beautiful reflection, darting over the purple dress cascading over her body and accentuating all her feminine curves. Her blonde hair was in wavy, glossy curls tucked in a hat with little strands escaping from it. Ladies were required to hide their hair at all times and she did loath this rule. What was the point of having hair, if you could not show it?

"You look beautiful, Miss Hale," her personal maid complimented with a smile.

Rosalie planned on expressing her gratitude, but stopped and thought about it. Her maid was merely saying the truth so there was nothing to be grateful for. Instead, Rosalie returned her smile, which was something she rarely did, before going straight to her father's study.

She knocked on the door gently and waited for her father to signal her to come in. Mr. Hale was always busy with whatever he did in his study, so much so that Rosalie was not disappointed when he told her that he could not escort her to the theatre.

"I am afraid I cannot go to the opera this evening. I have a lot of things to take care of," Mr. Hale said firmly with his eyes fixed on a bunch of papers lying on his table. "Your cousin Mark will be escorting you."

She turned her back and was on her way out when her father added, "And Rosalie?" He waited for her to turn around to face him before continuing. "Do not embarrass me," he said with a hardened glint in his eyes.

"Dear father, do I ever?" she said mockingly as she curtseyed and left him to his work.

Rosalie tried not to feel guilty and hurt at her father's reaction. He always expected the worst from her. Most of the time, she ignored him. She had become immune to his antagonism, his absence and even his anger. They both lived in the same manor, but yet it felt like they were a distance apart from each other.

Ever since her mother left, she had worried that her father had pushed all his resentment toward her.

"_You are just like your mother!" _He had once shouted at her, _"Never happy with what you have, gallivanting all over the place like a whore."_

Since then she had constructed a soul-barricade for herself to escape whatever unhappiness she saw in his face.

"My dear cousin, you are as ever – beautiful." Mark inclined himself in a bow, before kissing her gloved fingers.

"Why, so are you," she smiled.

He was about six foot tall and much built for a twenty year old gentleman. His starched suit and high collar complimented his profile. He had been her escort for a couple of events and she had found his company remarkably gratifying, especially with all the ladies that flocked toward him like moths to a flame.

He gave her most of the delightful gossip in town.

"We are stopping at the Swan's residence, Mason," she said to the coachman, before Mark lifted her onto the black velvet cushions of her carriage.

Meanwhile, at the Swan Residence, Isabella pulled her black net gloves over her hands and tried her best to tuck the rest of her hair into her bonnet. Felicia came into the room with an announcement.

"M'lady," the fifteen year old girl said, as she curtseyed in front of Isabella. "Your carriage is here and so is Miss Hale. Shall I tell her you will be out soon?" Felicia kept her eyes downcast as she waited for Isabella's approval.

"Yes, please," Isabella replied, as Alice wrapped up the finishing touches on her dress.

"I believe you are ready," she smiled at Isabella's reflection in the mirror. "Enjoy the opera and tell me all about it when you come back." Alice gave her one last glance before leaving the room.

Isabella picked up her lorgnette from the bed and then scurried outside to meet Rosalie.

"Oh, look at you," Rosalie said, as she peered through the window of her carriage. "You look gorgeous, though not as beautiful as I look. Who will be your escort?"

"I thought we always go to these things together, Rose," she blushed, noticing the way Mark kept on appraising her with his onyx eyes.

Mark, on the other hand, had never paid attention to Isabella before. And he wondered why, because he thought she looked like a very pretty girl.

"Yes, that was before we became young adults, Bella." Rosalie laughed.

"I can be your escort, Miss Swan," Mark said with a huge smile, as he opened the door.

"Oh, I do not know," Isabella replied. "Rosalie might not want to share." Isabella tipped her hat to cover her eyes as she looked down at her feet. She was slightly nervous at the attention she garnered from Mark.

Rosalie noticed this too, and replied. "What nonsense! Come in with us. Mark is greedy tonight to want to have two beautiful women on his arm, the rake that he is. Come in," Rosalie replied as Mark got down from the carriage and helped Isabella get in.

"You do look beautiful tonight, more beautiful than my cousin if I must say," he whispered in her ear as he lifted her up.

"Thank you." Isabella smiled.

"Oh, he is just deceiving you. He knows he cannot have me, so he tries to flaunt every woman in my face." Rosalie smacked his arm.

Carriages occupied both sides of the street as they stopped in front of the Metropolitan theatre. Mark got down and offered Isabella his hand. He helped both ladies out of the carriage and they were about to walk into the theatre when they were interrupted by the sound of Rosalie's name.

"Holy mother of God!" Rosalie said with disdain, as she held her chest and looked at Seth, who was panting in front of her. "What is this?" she shouted in disgust, gaining attention from pedestrians on the road. She tried to lower her voice.

"I have not heard from you since last year," Seth said, while trying to regain his breathing.

"And so you chase me down here in public. Are you out of your mind?" she questioned, as Isabella and Mark watched their conversation with curiosity.

"I am in love with you, Rosalie. I told you before and then you stopped receiving–"

"You _think_ you are in love?" Rosalie burst into a fit of laughter, as Seth flinched backward from the sound. "In love, you say?" She continued to cackle. "Boy, you have no idea what you speak of. Now leave this place at once before I order Mason to drag you out of here on your buttocks," she hissed. "Let's go," she called out to her cousin and Isabella.

Isabella hooked her arm around Mark's right arm, while Rosalie clung to his left. When they were inside, Mark went to greet some of his friends while Rosalie and Isabella went to their opera box.

"Rosalie, that was cruel," Isabella said, once they had taken their seats.

"He does not love me. He just desires me. Desire and love are two different things that can be mistaken, and men have difficulty in separating the two. When I, the object of his affection fade away, he will run for the hills. Young boys do not love; they are only after their own sexual satisfaction," Rosalie said, picking up her lorgnette as Mark walked into their box. "Is that not right, Mark?"

"Is what not right, sweetheart?" Mark asked, taking his seat beside Isabella.

"Forget it." Rosalie did not have the energy to repeat herself. In fact, she hated repeating herself, so she turned her attention back to the stage.

Isabella was left to ponder what Rosalie had said. She wondered whether the affection Edward had for her had been just a fling. A craving, that once he was satisfied with, he would flee. Perhaps he didn't really have a strong affection for her and this was clearly just a way to possess Rosalie's beauty. After all, that was what he was attracted to in the first place.

That night, Isabella poured her fears, insecurities and frustration into the letter she sent to Edward.

_Dear Edward, _

_How am I sure that you have indeed longed for me? How can I believe that you indeed possess any of these feelings that you claim to have? Can you prove it?_

_I am terribly afraid that the feelings you possess for me may constitute that of a superficial nature. And that once you have been satisfied of the desires you say you have, you will flee and abandon me, and I shall be left heartbroken. _

_The feelings that are embedded in my heart are those of a constant nature and they seek nothing but you, Edward. The type of love that I have for you is Celestial, according to Pausanias in Plato's symposium, which I advise you to read. _

_You are in my every thought. My heart burns for every word that you write; it seeks your letters almost every day. It aches with regret at the distance that separates us. _

_And sometimes it brings me anguish at the mere perception that someone else in England might captivate your interest and then your words would become only an ephemeral memory to me. _

_So I ask you to inform me sincerely if it is me_ you_ want, or merely the desire to have me, by which I mean corporeal desire. _

_Because when you return and I am old and haggard, I shall be longing for you, however_ _you may desire me no more. _

_Take care, dear friend. _

_Yours unconditionally, _

_Rosalie._

~o~

_September 1900. _

"Well, he would have to be strong to be my husband; I believe no one would want a weakling to be their protector." Rosalie said, as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "A man, who is worthy enough to be called a man, is an ideal man."

Currently, she sat in the Swan's drawing room with Mark, who had suddenly found such an interest in Isabella that he decided to show up at least once a week at her manor with his cousin. Isabella feigned ignorance to this fact.

"And what is your own version of an ideal man?" Mark turned to the brown-haired damsel, who was sketching the statue of Cupid and Psyche that sat on top of the fireplace. Cupid's wings were protruding up to the sky, and he held his beloved's head as if he was about to kiss her. His right hand held her face, while the left covered her breast. Psyche's two hands drew Cupid's head closer to her own, while the rest of her robe wrapped around her thighs. Isabella studied the statue a few times and found that drawing it was a bit difficult.

Mark was intrigued by the quiet and decorous attitude she had, compared to the other girls he had the pleasure of meeting. He also thought that Isabella would not enjoy the kinds of meetings he held with those girls. Isabella was the true definition of what a lady should be. Even his cousin could not argue with that.

"I do not think I have a preference," Isabella offered simply. "I do not think love has a preference. It simply loves what is bestowed upon it. It loves what it sees."

Mark leaned forward, becoming more and more fascinated by her. "So you want to marry for love?" he asked, curiosity beaming in his eyes.

"Yes, would you not?" She tore her eyes away from her sketch pad to glance at him, before returning back to the statue.

"If there is such a thing, yes," Mark relaxed back into his chair. "Perhaps if I consider that it exists."

Mark was going to elaborate on what he meant and ask her a few questions when Alice interrupted them.

"Miss Swan, your attention is needed immediately," Alice said. She always tried to call Isabella appropriately whenever she was in the presence of visitors.

"Please excuse me." Isabella dropped the drawing book on the table and followed Alice out of the room.

"This came for you." Alice handed a white, sleek envelope that had Rosalie's name scrawled elegantly on top of it in black ink.

At once, she knew whom it was from. Her heart started banging in her chest as she collected the envelope and walked to her bedchamber. She was not sure what she would find in it as she tore open the seal and sat on her bed. She unfolded the letter and took a deep breath before reading it.

_Dearest Rosalie, _

The familiar sea of emotions drowned her as she read the name. She wondered when she would stop hoping to see hers written in his elegant script at the top corner of the letter. With the disappointment tugging at her heart, she continued.

_I understand the kind of thoughts that must be passing through your head. To say that I am quite surprised would be an understatement, because never in a thousand centuries, would I have thought that you would have such feelings for me residing in your heart. _

_I read your letter three times before I slept the night I received it. I was a bit overwhelmed by the declarations that you made. _

_But you are terribly wrong, my love. You think that I want your body, that I crave your beauty and that I want to covet you in the most animalistic and depraved way. And this is true; it might disappoint you to have you know. However I will not deny that I do not possess such feelings for you; that I do not think of what it would be like to have your body in my arms writhing in pleasure. _

_To see the sight of your face flushed with ecstasy. To see our bodies mold together as we become one through such an immoral act. _

_But why should it be immoral to have these sinful thoughts of claiming your body? I desire you, my Rosalie. I am a man and I should be ashamed of it, however I am not. _

_Because I want you, both body and soul. I want to offer you every single thing that I am capable of providing. I want you to be fulfilled with my love. I want you to feel it in my words, in my whisper, in my touch and in my flesh. _

_I want you to know what you do to me. I want you to touch my body and hear my heart race just at the feel of your hand. And I want you to acknowledge how you make me feel when I cannot find the words to express it._

_How can you think that when I return I would not want you anymore, my love? I am in love with your mind. Your words keep me company. Your knowledge inspires me to do things that I have never done before. It opens my eyes to see things that I never dreamed of finding interest in. _

_And so even if you are old and haggard (which I know you will not be) when I return, your mind will be as intriguing and as refreshing as the very first letters we shared three years ago. _

_It is unbelievable to think that I have written to you for so long and yet you doubt me. I am disappointed, my love. _

_I know your birthday is coming up, so I have attached a gift with this letter. It is a necklace with a beautiful pendant; I think you will like it._

_When you wear the chain, the pendant will rest on your chest and I will be one step closer to your heart. _

_I crave to read your words soon._

_Yours undoubtedly, _

_Edward Cullen. _

_PS: I read the symposium and I am quite an enthusiast of Alcibiades, Socrates' lover._

Isabella crushed the letter to her heart, as if Edward's words could feel her heart beat erratically in her chest and know just exactly what he did to her. Her insecurities washed away from her body as a new feeling swallowed her.

_He desired her._

Isabella's blood ran to her cheeks as she remembered his words.

_That I do not think of what it would be like to have your body in my arms writhing in pleasure. To see the sight of your face flushed with ecstasy. To see our bodies mold together as we become one through such an immoral act. _

She had never really thought of having Edward in such a way yet, but now that he had planted the idea into her mind, the seed grew fruitfully in her brain. Sure, she had condemned him for having those exact thoughts and he had confirmed to have them. But the way he had tied it all up and placed the icing on the cake, made her feel complete.

_I am in love with your mind. And so even if you are old and haggard (which I know you will not be) when I return, your mind will be as intriguing and as refreshing as the very first letters we shared three years ago. _

He wanted her body and soul. He wanted all of her, not just one part. Isabella closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Her eyes flashed open when she remembered he said he had bought a necklace for her.

Oh, he had thought of her birthday! Well, not quite. He had thought of Rosalie's birthday which was in October, while her birthday was in September. But she wouldn't allow the truth to dampen her mood.

Isabella picked up the envelope and pulled out something that was wrapped in a lot of paper. She removed each layer piece by piece until it unveiled a gold necklace with a small heart shaped pendant.

She quickly put it on and vowed to never take it off.

"Your friend is quite charming," Mark said, his fingers fiddling with his white cravat.

"Please tell me that you are not interested in her." Rosalie looked at him with a caveat glance. She knew her cousin was attracted to Isabella, but she decided to act ignorant until he informed her of it. "She is not one of those scandalous girls you know. She is every bit a lady."

"Which is why I am fascinated by her." Mark leaned forward, "I did not know that there were still such innocent girls in Forks. She is like the conquest that I never had the pleasure of taking."

"What? All the Denali whores were not good enough for you. Didn't they give you enough fight? I hear Tanya is like a priest's daughter. Surely, you could not have had it that easy."

A smug smile spread across Mark's lips.

"You are such a rake!" Rosalie looked at him in awe.

"Oh, do not make such a fuss about it. It was merely nothing." Mark smoothed his hair back.

"I see…" Rosalie brought the glass of lemonade to her lips and took a sip. "Forgive me for being curious, but why is she suddenly captivating to you? She has always been there, yet you have never showed any interest. Why now?" she questioned.

"Well, she turns ten and eight this year, and she has developed into a fine young woman."

"You want to be the first one to get your claws in her." Rosalie whispered with realization. "Son of the devil! She will not fall for you. She is better than that."

"Well, it would be worth a try. Besides, we both know she would not succumb to any of my advances, so this might purely be pleasurable for you to see me be unsuccessful using my charm. What harm could come from this?"

"Fine." Rosalie placed her cup down. "It will be nice to see someone turn you down, especially with that ego of yours."

It would also be good for Isabella to see that there were other things other ways to occupy her time, besides living in her fantasy of falling in love, Rosalie thought as she smiled.

* * *

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews and also for reading! **

**I wrote a o/s called 'The Day Is Brave' check it out under my stories. **


	4. The Deception of Love

**A/N: My utmost gratitude goes to my beautiful ladies. Ciaobella27 inspires me to write things that make her smile and swoon. TwiDi wh****ips it up with her red marker and lets me know if the love letters are **_**actually**_** love letters. Mrs Boyscout uses her red pen and supports me like no other. And Phoenixhunter47 makes me sound **_**so**_** witty by adding beautiful words and commas I hardly think of.**

**Without them I'm ****nothing**_**.**_

**Still dedicated to my friend, Pree. **

**DISCLAIMER: I stole the foundation for this, and also the characters, but the rest of it, that remains, is mine. **

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The Deception of Love

Love is a benign deception that motivates us to do the work we would not normally do. It helps us acquire a companion. It deceives us by promising one thing – eternal bliss, but gives us something entirely different.

Eros shoots us with his arrow and blinds us from seeking pleasures for ourselves, removes selfishness and makes us chase the desires of our loved ones. Falling in love makes us bow to someone else's will; to achieve happiness for that person, even though it may cause us pain.

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." – Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

_November, 1900._

Jasper Henry Whitlock watched the fire lick at the wood and consume it in its flames as it warmed up the drawing room of the Manor. The uncomfortable silence made the ticking of the grandfather clock pierce the room, causing his heart to accelerate in his chest, as his father held his figure under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Jasper." William called his name with tenderness, the effect diminishing his son's fear.

But his tone was not able to drown the anxiety that Jasper felt at the mere knowledge that his father was aware of his relationship with Alice. What if he had found out? With this ominous thought running around in his head, he answered. "Yes, father."

William poured scotch into two glasses and leaned back into his chair. "Have a drink."

Jasper stood up from where he had been sitting and walked up to his father's side. He picked up the lowball glass and returned to his chair, which was situated some distance away from his father.

"Do you know why I have called you here today, son?" William's intimidating voice raised the tiny hairs standing on Jasper's neck to attention.

Jasper was not a coward. In fact, he never really cared much for his father's opinion. However, when it came to Alice, the matter was a tender issue. If his father had discovered that his son was engaged with a common maid – one of the servants of his friend's daughter – he would have been disappointed. Jasper was not able to deduce the type of danger Alice could be put in.

"No, I do not." Jasper swirled his scotch and watched the pale gold liquid dance around the glass.

"I have every reason to believe that," – in one fluid moment, Jasper braced himself for the impending doom and threw the scotch down his throat, almost hissing at the harshness of it on his tongue –"you have no interest in women."

He almost spat out the liquid at the irrationality of his father's statement. Had he heard right? He quickly swallowed hard to save himself the embarrassment of ejecting the scotch from his esophagus. His father would not have regarded that as behavior befitting a gentleman.

"What could possibly make you believe so?" Jasper asked, wishing he did not have to walk across the room just to get another glass of scotch. With the way their conversation was heading to, he believed he would need it.

"There is proof all around me. You have not been with a girl for as long as I can remember. I am afraid that you are of the homosexual persuasion." William's words were injected with humor, but his eyes reflected seriousness.

"Father, you must be…" Jasper's words trailed off, looking into his father's eyes. "You cannot be serious! That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard."

"That you are or are not homosexual?" William asked, crossing his hands against his chest.

"That you would even consider..." Jasper said in exasperation. His father was making him angrier by the minute. "That is absolutely preposterous."

"Name the last girl you have been with," William countered.

"A–," he quickly stopped, realizing that he was about to mention his lover's name. It was so natural of him to say it as he called it almost every night when she was in bed with him.

William saw this hesitation and his thick brow raised skeptically, challenging him to argue.

Jasper swallowed before slouching back into his chair in defeat. He hadn't been seen with any woman because the one who had captured his heart could not be seen with him. In society's eye, their relationship was not acceptable. A relationship that existed between a superior and a subordinate was usually discreetly, but forcefully dissolved, once both parties were discovered.

"I believe you are right," Jasper said begrudgingly. For now, he would accept whatever his father was about to tell him, in order to protect Alice.

"Jasper, you are my only son and when I die, you will be the one to inherit my estate. I cannot give that to you without knowing that you have someone with whom you could raise a family." William rubbed his hands together. "You must find a girl who captures your interest and settle down soon. You are already turning one and twenty this year; you can ill afford to wait much longer before selecting a wife. You must accept your role in society and act like the man I raised you up to be."

~!&!~

_December, 1900. Winter ball at Court: celebration of the last year in the 19__th__ century before the Common Era. _

Rosalie placed her fan over her face and tried to suppress her giggles under the leaves of its swan feathers. Isabella smacked her with her lace fan and shot her an admonishing look. She tried to control her laughter, but with the evil glares coming from Lady Stanley, Rosalie could no longer help it. She hid her face in Isabella's neck and silently convulsed while the audience members, who were pretending to be enthralled by Jessica's singing, turned to Rosalie in confusion.

"Miss Hale, would you enlighten us with what has amused you?" Lady Stanley asked, with irritation lacing her tone. Rosalie could almost swear that she saw steam erupting out of the matron's ears, and that did not help the second round of laughter that burst through her.

"I'm afraid your ladyship," Isabella cut in politely, "that my friend may be ill and for that I sincerely apologize for the interruption. Pray, do carry on with your singing Jessica, you do it so beautifully." Isabella smiled.

When Jessica had finished singing, the audience gave a round of applause while Rosalie stood up and walked to the refreshment section. She poured wine from the decanter and took a long sip. Her eyes swept over the enormous ballroom until they found what they were looking for – her cousin, Mark. She deposited her glass on the table and walked straight toward him, ignoring the silent whispers of mothers criticizing her previous behavior. Her head sat high on her shoulders while her chin jutted out, the quintessential high status lady, and once she had reached her destination, she graced Mark's cheek with a kiss.

"Darling cousin, that's an interesting way of deflecting attention to yourself," Mark smiled, glancing around the room.

"Oh, for the life of my poor ears, that girl cannot sing. I hardly comprehend why we must be subjected to it at all. Clearly, all the gentlemen present must be on the same page as I," Rosalie said. "Faye only insists she do it in the hope that she will find a good suitor, and in turn send her away from court. Except with that voice, any likely suitor will run in the other direction. No one wants someone who sings like a dying cat."

"I do agree, but I would like to think she sounds better in bed," Mark smiled. "Perhaps James Whistler would do us all a favor and court her," he added. "If only he was not attracted to you."

"Speaking of courting, did you hear the _on_-_dit_ this week?" Rosalie asked. "Rumor has it that the families of Whitlock and Swan are considering the idea of a betrothal. One could assume that I win the wager, as it is unlikely that you will be able to follow up on your plan before she is betrothed."

"I was not aware of such news. Besides, I doubt Jasper would consider it, and neither would Isabella," Mark countered.

"Yes, but in retrospect, it is the family's own wishes that fuelled the gossip. I believe Lord Whitlock is concerned about his son's single status, as your father would be, if it weren't for the fact that you were hammering every potential bride in Forks."

Mark flashed Rosalie a smug smile. "The deal is not over. As a matter of fact, Isabella and I will be spending some time together soon." Just as soon as he could find her, he thought.

"Yes, Mark, poison her with your charm. I'll be over there," Rosalie nudged her head toward James' direction, "dancing with the young Whistler. I wish you luck because you are definitely going to need it," she winked and her lips curved upward into a crescent, before leaving him.

Mark spotted Isabella at the other end of the ballroom, wearing a modest cream dress. He noticed that the satin covered almost every inch of skin on her body. However, he found delight in the way it clung to her like a second skin, defining her curvaceous body, and leaving him with only his imagination of what lay underneath it. He was surprised that a lady being fully clothed, without exposing any part of her body could enhance her attraction. He had always thought it was the other way round.

She was a tease and she did not even know it.

Isabella poured herself some lemonade from the crystal pitcher, and then turned to watch her friend commanding the attention of the ballroom. Rose sank into a curtsy while James inclined himself in a bow. The audience circled around them as James wrapped his hands around Rosalie's waist, pulling her closer to him, before they began to waltz elegantly across the room. All eyes were on both of them, watching the couple cavort under the glittering chandelier lights.

"My cousin is quite an attention seeker," Mark said from behind Isabella, startling her with his approach. "I am terribly sorry," he held her hand and tried to stable her movements. "Did I scare you?"

"No, you did not," she replied, clearing her throat. "Rosalie is beautiful. I would think she captures the attention of anything that is within ten or twenty feet of her."

"As do you Isabella," he responded with a heart-warming smile. "I was standing all the way over there," he pointed at a spot discreetly, "and I was so mesmerized by your beauty that I had to come over here and tell you about it."

Isabella could not stop the blush that crept over her cheeks, at Mark's compliment.

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

"I am afraid that I do not know much about dancing." She placed her lemonade on the table. "I am so clumsy that already, I foresee myself falling and embarrassing you in front of all these guests."

Mark closed the distance between them and bent his head to whisper in her ear. "I promise that if you do fall, I'll be there to catch you."

The orchestra started to play the twenty-first concerto_ – Andante _by Mozart – as Mark and Isabella joined Rosalie and James in the center of the ballroom. Mark bowed down lithely in front of Isabella.

Galvanized by the anxiety swirling in the pit of her stomach, Isabella curtsied cautiously before entering his embrace.

Rosalie smiled knowingly at Isabella, and gave Mark a devilish wink that suggested she was not, by any means, going to lose to him.

* * *

_February, 1901._

_My dear Edward,_

_The words in your last letter have rendered me so speechless, that I am afraid all my common sense has flown out of the window. I have sat in this chair and stared at the fields, pondering on what intelligent way to explain what you have done to me._

_You are everywhere. I cannot be rid of you. Your words are engraved in my heart. Your image is imprinted in my dreams. The first thing I wake up to in the morning is the thought of you. The last thought that crosses my mind before I close my eyes is of you. My afternoons are spent thinking of writing to you, talking to you, and wondering what you are doing in England._

_I am jealous of the people you are surrounded by. Jealous of the sun that gets to help you start your day. Jealous of the moon that gets to say goodnight. Jealous of the air that has the benefit of touching your skin._

_Your letters have become a constant companion to my thoughts. I read them over and over, wishing you were here with me, whispering those words that have such a dazzling effect on my poor heart._

_Is this what love is? Does love invoke madness? Does it make everything around you seem irrelevant? Does it make you so unintelligent that you cannot find the words to express yourself? Does it make you despise time, distance, people and everything else that separates you from your beloved?_

_Does it make every word that forces you to think of that person, seem poetic?_

_I have spent the last months with a boy named Mark and even he cannot take my mind off you. When he smiles at me, my mind imagines what your smile looks like. I imagine what makes you smile. When he kisses my cheek, I imagine what it might feel like to have your lips do that._

_When I am in a room full of people, your absence makes me experience the greatest loneliness I have ever felt._

_Oh, please tell me darling, Edward, for I fear that I have gone completely mad, and if it is so, I do not want a cure for this insanity._

_I am in love with you Edward Anthony Cullen. And it might be a mistake to make you aware of this impertinent fact. I might be left with a shattered heart when you possess the knowledge, but I would gladly take the risk because my life suddenly does not have meaning without you in it._

_Please send me a letter and put me out of my misery._

_Love, Rosalie._

_P.S. The necklace was beautiful; I have kept it close to my heart. Thank you_.

* * *

_March, 1901. Wallace Manor._

Isabella's eyes trailed over the erotic paintings that decorated the walls of one within rooms of the Wallace Manor. The white disks of her eyes expanded in fascination, while digesting the sight of naked bodies in various positions, depicting sensuality and debauchery. Both males and females were wrapped in passionate embraces that were so intimate; Isabella felt she was committing a sin just looking at it.

"So you collect pornography?" She averted her eyes away from the sinful images, resting her gaze on Mark.

Mark looked at her with a thoughtful expression, almost as if he was trying to understand what was passing through her mind.

"It is not _pornography_," he replied, sounding offended at the word she had used to describe his art collection. "'Tis _erotica_. There is a difference, you know."

"Forgive me, but I was not aware of the difference." She turned her face away from him, hiding the embarrassment that had marked her cheeks.

"Yes, there is," Mark said, completely intrigued. The innocence on her face amused Mark. He had never met a girl who was so pure that her eyes bulged out of her face just at the sight of a man kissing a woman.

When she did not answer, he decided to continue. "Pornography has no art, no enduring interest. It bores us with time. Erotica is an art; it has an aesthetic beauty that attracts our admiration. A beauty of which we never get bored. It invites our contemplation. They are two entirely different things."

Mark realized that Isabella was quite different from the other girls he had seduced. He almost thought that the difference between her and those girls was similar to the difference between his erotica and pornography. Her naivety made him want to teach her many things. He had always thought that good girls were not actually good, they were just oppressed and that was why they wanted bad boys to rescue them.

However, Isabella proved him wrong. She did not seem to need rescuing, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, he wanted to be her knight in shining armor. And although, he wanted to take her virtue, he did not want to treat like the other girls he had encountered. But he did, so badly, want to kiss her.

So, Mark walked across the room and stood behind her, as she inspected one of the less-vulgar paintings. "Do you know what 'tis like to be kissed, Miss Swan?" His whisper was so low and deep that it caused a vibration within Isabella's chest.

Isabella was momentarily stunned by his proximity. He was so close that she could smell his cologne. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes flickering to his parted lips, and the atmosphere around them began to spin. She was very much aware of what was going to happen next, and what Mark intended to do. She was also shocked at how her body responded to him. Her senses had heightened, choosing now to become completely aware of him.

His onyx eyes held hers, and she noticed the unmistakable lust shining in them. "Have you ever had a boy's lips on yours?"

Before anything else could happen, Isabella attempted to escape from his hold. But his smothering gaze, and the seductive tone he employed, caused her to trip on the carpet. His arms cradled her gently, as she tried to regain her balance. She leaned against him, and when she was sure she no longer needed his support to stand upright, she moved away from him to breathe.

She had always considered Mark to be a handsome man, and she was attracted to him, but she had heard of his previous escapades. Knowing this, she did not want to be his next victim. There was also the notion that she wanted Edward to be the first and only person who kissed her. It was a foolish thought that she entertained, nevertheless, it was what her heart had yearned for as long as she could remember.

Mercifully saved by her chaperone and Rosalie, Isabella quickly disengaged from the heated moment that had encompassed her and Mark.

~!&!~

"I would consider Don Juan to be actually impoverished. He has nothing. He is like an empty vessel with nothing to give and nothing to receive," Isabella said, holding her hat carefully and praying that the wind did not have the opportunity to whisk it away from her head.

Mark plucked blades of grass from the soil. "I do not think he has nothing to give. He does give pleasure to the women he beds, surely, that has to count for something." His eyes twinkled.

The sun glistened upon the tendrils of Isabella's hair, that had escaped her bonnet. Protected from the glaring sun of spring by her red parasol, Isabella played with the edges of her gown while she and Mark engaged themselves in a conversation about the opera they had watched the day before: _Don Giovanni_.

Mark had found an excuse to come and see her again, for reasons he did not understand, save for the fact that he thoroughly enjoyed her company. Rosalie sat across from them, her head resting on one of the blue velvet cushions she had collected from her manor. She was extremely bored with their banter. However, she had no choice but to listen, for once again she was idle. Being the fact that she had cut all contact from Seth, she was stuck with their company.

And every word that was uttered infuriated her.

"Yes, but he hardly knows the women he beds. He knows not a single thing about them. What pleasure is derived when love has no tangle with it?" Isabella asked.

"That is because he is not in love. He does not want it, nor does he seek it, and that makes him powerful. For if he has nothing to feel, then there is nothing to regret." Mark was insistent in winning this argument.

"I hardly believe that. He just possesses a low self esteem. He is an indiscriminate, judging from his character, he is only concerned with quantity, and with his reputation. He associates love with being a predator. Each lover is a conquest for him, and that is not what love is about. He will never have the benefit of having something real and strong because he is blinded by ungodly things."

"Devil take it!" Rosalie exhaled sharply, picking up her parasol and the cushion, and stomping off toward the direction of her house.

Mark chuckled at Rosalie's display of what he called _afternoon madness_, as he shrugged and answered Isabella's worried question of what was wrong with her. He took that opportunity to get closer to Isabella and revel in the scent of lavender that accompanied her.

"Is that why you won't let me kiss you, Miss Isabella?" he asked her tentatively. "Because you think kissing is ungodly?"

The question had thrown her off guard, and Mark was rewarded by the blood that colored her neck.

"Miss Swan!" She craned her neck to Alice's distinct voice, sounding from a distance. "Miss Swan! Your parents request for your presence in the drawing room at once."

"I must go," Isabella said, standing up carefully.

"Give me the benefit of kissing your hand instead," Mark said.

He took her left hand, and pressed his lips to the black net covering it. Then he gave her a smile as she ran off to answer her parent's call.

"What is it?" she asked Alice politely, passing through the doors that led straight into the room where her parents sat.

"Find out for yourself," Alice replied contemptuously. The tone of her voice caused Isabella to wince. She had never experienced hostility from Alice before, and she wondered what had brought it forth. Before she could question her further, Isabella's mother rushed to meet her at the door.

"Isabella, where were you?" she asked with an abysmal look on her face, as she took in the state of her dress. Darts of grass had stuck to her dress. "Oh, never mind, we have good news." She ushered Isabella inside the room, pushing her to sit on one of the settees.

"Dear young Whitlock has sent these to you." Her mother's hands gestured to the bouquet of flowers that crowded the table.

Isabella was overcome by the smell of the flowers. The sheer number of calla lilies, stargazer lilies, and bearded irises - which were somewhat her favorite - that filled the table was overwhelming. Suddenly, the name her mother had spoken penetrated through her head, and she understood why Alice was acting indifferent toward her previously.

She had read the newspapers that contained gossip about both her family and the Whitlock's seeking a betrothal, but she was yet to believe it since they had not discussed it with her. But as she gazed at the numerous petals that shone brightly against the sun, she could not help but feel slightly betrayed.

At that moment, she wondered what Alice thought.

"They are so beautiful, mama," she said honestly, wondering how she was going to go on with what she wanted to say next.

After all, she knew that there was no way Jasper could have sent them. Since he did not desire her – neither had he paid attention to her for the past few months. If anything, she expected them to be from Mark, who had suddenly found an interest in her.

"But please, you must send them back to him with my undying gratitude, for I am afraid that I cannot accept." She watched the muscles in her mother's face construct a horrific expression, as her words registered in Lady Swan's head.

"Nonsense! What do you mean you cannot accept?" Lady Swan hissed. "Do you want to bring me sorrow, child?" she asked, while Isabella shook her head. "Good. Now, go to your bedchamber, Alice will bring the flowers to you."

Isabella did not have the energy to argue with her mother, so she obeyed and walked up to her room. That night, as Alice helped Isabella take off her gown, her eyes glanced around her room, wondering how to strike up a conversation with Alice.

"I did not–," she started, but her sentence got cut off.

"I know," Alice said.

"I'm sorry."

"'Tis not your fault." Alice helped her out of her petticoat. "I just wish I was enough for him."

Isabella did not know how to respond to that, so she kept silent. But the words resonated in her heart, for they described exactly how she felt about Edward.

* * *

_June, 1901_

_Sweetest Rosalie, _

_I would like to have you know that it is not only you who is tormented. The last hours of my medical class have been occupied with thoughts of you. _

_You have spent these past years without me. You have shared your laughter with others. You have shared your words with others. You have smiled at boys; you have kissed their cheeks; you have danced with them, and they have held you. They have wrapped their arms around you. _

_And I have been here, lying on my bed, thinking of doing those same things. You say that you are jealous of the sun that gets to help me start my day. I am jealous of every smile you give to every boy that is not me. You say you are jealous of the moon that gets to say goodnight to me. I am jealous of every boy who plants a kiss on your cheek. I am envious of every boy who gets to have the chance to hear your voice. I am envious of everyone who is able to make you laugh._

_Time passes and each second has me wishing I could be there to hold you in my arms. You fear that I do not love you. If I feel agony and jealousy at the thoughts of some other boys being in your presence, what would you call that? I am entirely devoted to you, Rosalie. I have derived __such __an immense pleasure from your last two letters, that the slightest chance of breaking your heart would lead me to my own demise. _

_With each letter you send, my admiration for you grows stronger and stronger. If the emotions you incite in me seem bigger than my heart can contain, what would you call that? If the thought of something devastating happening to you – which I have banished from my mind – may kill me since you are so far away and I cannot protect you, what would you call that? _

_If your absence causes me this much pain, what would you call that? I have suffered these years along with my desire for you, and I would suffer a thousand more just to discover more beautiful things about you._

_You have absorbed my entire being, Rosalie. Fear not, you have me completely. _

_Love, your Edward._

_P.S. I am glad you liked the necklace. _

_P.P.S. Who is Mark?_

~!&!~

"They say you are to be engaged," Alice Brandon said, fingering the coats hanging in the closet.

"They say a lot of things." Jasper threw the scotch down his throat, and fought the urge to grimace at the burn of it.

They were currently in his bedchamber. After Alice had been relieved from her duties at the Swan house, she had quietly sneaked into Whitlock Manor and waited for Lord Whitlock to head to his chamber before entering Jasper's room.

"Is it true?" Alice fixed her eyes on the brown coat, avoiding the look on his face. "Are you to be engaged?"

She did not think her heart could stand the truth if she saw it in his eyes. She could barely survive the flowers he had sent to Isabella a couple of weeks ago. Though, she knew it was not Isabella's fault, she could not help the jealousy that had overcome her at the sight of it. At the ripe age of five and twenty, she had never acted like such a child before.

She had been ashamed of her behavior that night when she returned to her quarters. The love she held for him in her heart had burned her with torment and she had wept out her shame and uncertainties on her pillow.

"Father is thinking of it," he answered simply, watching the flames burn the vestiges of wood at the fireplace.

"And what are you thinking of?" she whispered in a small voice, that was barely audible. The fear of losing him was too hard to bear, and her bones quaked at the thought.

She heard the sound of his footsteps approach and stop just within an inch from her. He leaned forward, so that she could feel his breath caress the shell of her ear.

"I am thinking of you," he whispered, his hands wrapping around her waist. "I only think of you." He planted a kiss on her nape, enjoying the way her creamy skin felt under his lips.

Alice closed her eyes. "They will take you away from me," she said, the sadness evident in her tone. "And then I–"

"Hush." Jasper tilted her face with an index finger so he could see her face. "No one can take me away from you." He placed a soft kiss on her nose. "I am all yours."

Any further protests were swallowed by the kiss he stole from her lips.

* * *

_July, 1901_

Summer was here, along with its vibrant sun, its merry butterflies, its green fields, and the ladies basking in the delight of its season. The soirees, tea parties, musicals, picnic suppers and card parties were thrown in abundance, as was the norm, for the time of year.

It was also a season rich in suitors. The Whitlock family had been sending gifts, and other accessories, so that they might gain the favor of the Swans. Jasper – under the pretext of the rule that stated engaged couples should not be seen with one another – had not sought out Isabella's company, at all.

And Isabella had been happy with that; save for the gossip columns that had claimed that she and Jasper were engaged, when they were not. But of course, when she had voiced her discomfort about the situation, her mother had brushed it off, saying, "The sooner it happens, the better."

Mark had clearly hidden his acquaintance with her under the guise of being Rosalie's cousin. Considering Rosalie and Isabella were best friends, it was not unusual for him to be seen with them.

But this changed, one day, when Mark barged into one of the rooms at Swan Manor.

Isabella's governess was conducting the duet between Rosalie, who played the cello, and Isabella, who played the violin. Strings of both instruments exuded the beautiful music piece named _Passacaglia _by Handel, when they were interrupted by Mark's abrupt arrival.

He appeared at the door, breathing furiously as if he had ran all the way to the room, with one of the kitchen maids standing beside him.

"I'm sorry Lady Isabella. 'E would not allow me to announce 'is introduction to 'ye first, before 'e reached 'ere," the maid said.

"It is okay, Felicity," Isabella waved her off.

"Mark, what are you doing here?" Rosalie asked in bewilderment.

"I came to see Isabella," he replied. "Isabella," his eyes switched to her. "I have something I want to say to you."

Isabella dropped her violin onto her lap.

"What is this nonsense?" her governess asked, with distaste in her voice. "We are in the middle of a lesson here, young man."

"It will only take a second," Mark said.

"Well, get on with it," the governess retorted.

"Isabella, marry me," he blurted out.

The sound of a cello bow hitting the floor resonated through the room, and a muttered curse was the last thing heard before a deadly silence fell upon them.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! As always, let me know your thoughts.**


	5. The Knight of Infinite Resignation

**A/N: Ciaobella27, TwiDi, MrsBoyscout all made this chapter look good. Phoenixhunter47 cleaned it up very nicely and made sure it was readable. I am nothing without these women and their intelligent minds and red pens.**

**To Pree. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to their various owners. I only take credit for the love letters.**

* * *

The Knight of Infinite Resignation

The knight of infinite resignation never gives up on his love even though he is aware that the love existing between himself and his beloved is impossible.

"_If all else perished, and he remained, _I_ should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a might stranger: I should not seem a part of it."- _Catherine Earnshaw (_Wuthering Heights)_.

* * *

While Isabella stared at the green grass that covered the grounds in front of her manor, she clutched the necklace that lit the only glimmer of hope in her chest. In Greek mythology, Pandora's curiosity caused her to open *_pithos_, unleashing all the evils of the world unto mankind, except hopelessness. And for that very reason, Isabella held on tightly to the small thread of hope that one day, Edward would truly fall in love with her and not the woman she claimed to be.

But what if Edward was so tangled up in the mirage she had created, that he failed to realize it was her he was in love with all along? Then everything she had built hope on would crumble before her, and she would be left with nothing. Could her heart take such a painful rejection from him? Was love of the mind stronger than beauty of the flesh?

Isabella had always been told there would be a lot of men who would want to marry her, and she had always wondered how she would choose which one to fall in love with? In all of her eighteen years, she had never felt anything so strong and all consuming, as the love she felt for Edward. But would it ever be enough? Would she ever have a chance with him? What good thing could be produced from a lie? A deception so huge, that if the truth were to be discovered, all her dreams would be annihilated.

Isabella pondered this as she turned back to look at Mark. The governess and Rosalie had excused themselves to give Mark and her some privacy. She took a moment to gaze into his onyx eyes, wondering if they would ever turn to that shade of green that never failed to capture her attention. She wondered if her heart would ever beat with the same speed in anticipation, should she ever get a letter from him. She wondered if he even wrote love letters or if he could play soft melodies on the piano. Would she ever be able to engage him in literary conversation, even if his key focus was music or perhaps medicine…? Would he ever be able to quote from _Romeo and Juliet_? Would he ever understand their love? Perhaps all he would ever be interested in was _Don Giovanni._

Would she ever be happy with him?

Before Isabella could process her thoughts and answer any of her questions, the words escaped her lips. "I cannot marry you, Mark."

Mark stood like a statue as the words consumed the silence in the room. He so seldom had to deal with rejection. _He _rejected people, not the other way around. The words were like a physical blow to his chest.

Isabella wondered how he felt, seeing the other side of the coin.

His fingers grasped his homburg hat tightly. "May I ask why?"

"I am afraid that I simply cannot. We would not make a good fit if we were to be betrothed," she replied.

"Isabella." He took a step forward, which was countered with a backward step from her. "If this is about love, I assure you that–"

"I am not in love with you, Mark."

"Yes, and I am well aware of this, but I believe that we will fall in love when we are married. We would be forced to–"

"Familiarity will not make it any easier on you, Mark. If anything, I would think it desensitizes a couple. I do not want to be estranged from my husband."

An unidentifiable expression flashed across Mark's face but disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. "What? Do you not deem me to be good enough for you?"

"That is not it."

"Then, what is?" The venom in his voice caused Isabella to flinch. "A man of my status with my wealth and dignity and–"

"I will have you know that those are of no consequence to me, and surely if you understood–"

"If I understood, I would immediately consider what you are saying to be complete poppycock. Women long to be at my side. They yearn for my touch, and I want to settle with you, of all people–" he said it as if it were the most ridiculous thing, "–and _you_ are rejecting_ me_?" His mouth spat the words like an unsavory taste on his tongue.

"I just cannot give you what you ask of me. I cannot marry you if I am not in love with you."

"Isabella, I suggest you reconsider. Love is nothing but an infantile notion that exists in fairytales, and even in such tales, the greatest love stories have no happy endings. Marriage is what adults do. It provides security–"

"You do not know what you speak of. For I assure you, if you have ever felt even one tenth of it, you would not utter those words." Isabella exhaled a sharp breath.

There was no point in trying to convince him about what she felt. She, herself, could not begin to describe it. No one would ever understand what she felt, unless they had felt it too. She knew that Mark was just trying to argue his way into a betrothal that could never happen.

"I cannot marry you, Mark, for reasons that I do not wish to concern you with." She played with the pendant that rested comfortably close to her heart.

"Isabella." She could almost trace the rigid lines of fury on his face. "You will regret this, and I shall never present you with this opportunity again." He adjusted his frock coat and left.

* * *

_September 1901._

_My Only Beloved,_

_Words fail to express how much joy fills my heart, to address you with such affection._

_I am afraid that the profound feelings you ignite within me cannot be contained on such a poor piece of paper._

_I am convinced that every word declared in your letters is shot with Cupid's arrow, to aim straight for my heart so that I may fall in love with you over again._

_Would that be jealousy I detect in your words? For if it is so, I shall let you know that you are incomparable in my heart, and therefore, you should have no fear._

_Your words permanently blind my eyes from admiring the sight of other young swains. Only your love can consume my whole being with such intensity that there is nothing left for others._

_So you need not worry, my beloved._

_Papa had the pleasure of listening to me play our lovely melody – Midnight Sonata – for him. Although, I do think his enthusiasm was incited by my ability to play it on the violin._

_This piqued my curiosity as to why you have thoughts of me when you listen to it or play it. Granted, it is a soothing melody with a deep meaning, I am sure. But why Beethoven? Is there any specific reason?_

_How is England adjusting to its new ruler – King Edward VII? Are there any significant changes?_

_Yours affectionately,_

_Rosalie._

_P.S. I always wear the necklace; I never take it off. It is forever close to my heart._

_P.P.S. Mark was an acquaintance but I fear he is no longer one._

* * *

_January, 1902._

"_TWO_ GENTLEMEN!" Lady Swan's whisper was so sharp, Isabella was sure the sound could be heard downstairs. She was shocked at how her mother, who was bedridden with a slight indisposition, could still find the strength and voice to tell stories. "They were fine, young men, Bev," she continued. "Men from aristocratic families!" The weight of her disappointment was not lost on Isabella, and she even began to think that maybe she – herself – was not considered to be from an aristocratic family. "And she had the audacity to reject them – both Lord Jasper Whitlock and Lord Mark Wallace. Two proposals, Bev! I, for the life of me, cannot fathom such a decision. It was all over the papers. How am I supposed to go back and face the public again?"

Isabella thought she could just die from the agony of having to hear her mother wail about her past deeds. For what it was worth, Isabella thought her mother was completely blowing things out of proportion. All she had done was simply refuse Mark's proposal, last year, and inform the Whitlocks during the festive period – precisely, the Christmas ball – that she had no intentions of becoming a part of their family.

However, her actions had banished her mother to the confinement of her bed after the announcement, where she pretended to be sick for more than a week, blaming it on her daughter's callous actions and the weather.

"Renee." Aunt Beverly, who was a magnet for her sister's downfall and had immediately shown up once she heard the news, placed a hand on Isabella's mother. Isabella was sure that Aunt Beverly had come, not because her sister was sick, but because she wanted to confirm the gossip she had heard in the papers. "You know how these younglings are. You have to be firm with her." She turned to cast a glance at Isabella. "And I sincerely think she needs to put on more weight. How will she ever find the right man with those small breasts?"

Isabella could not help the gasp that escaped from her. She placed her hands to cover her breasts, feeling utterly violated. This did not deter Aunt Beverly at all. Instead, she carried on with her conversation.

"'Twas but a miracle that Angela found a husband, she was as thin as a broomstick. And after she ran off with that man who was twice her age, it was only God that saved us from that atrocious scandal. It took a whole year to find a man who would take her. And she got married to a General. Did very well for herself, that one," Aunt Beverly remarked, taking a sip of her tea. "Now, my four daughters, save for the last one, are all married," she announced proudly.

Isabella rolled her eyes and wondered if her mother could detect the joy her sister was prevailing in, as of that moment. A familiar pang accompanied the thought of her cousin, Angela. Angela had fallen in love with a man who was one and thirty when she was only fifteen. Her whole family had rebuked her for it, and she had escaped to France, only to come back broken-hearted when she had learned he was already married with a family of his own.

"Nineteen years of age and no husband, Bev. With her behavior, who would even want to consider offering marriage again?" Lady Swan cried. "Only lord knows what the members of _court_ are saying. They must think that she is not suitable to become a wife. The marriage market–"

"Mama, I beseech you to stop," Isabella pleaded once she could no longer take it. "You are highly exaggerating. It is not that big of a deal. Now please, drink your soup so that you may get well soon."

"I may never recover from this." Renee shook her head dramatically. "I shall cling to this bed until someone takes your hand in marriage."

With nothing but a deep sigh, Isabella left her mother's bedchamber before she could add to her illness.

* * *

_February, 1902. _

_My Immortal Beloved, _

_Were you aware that Beethoven addressed *Countess Guiletta Guiccardi as his "immortal beloved"? It was rumored that he wrote that sonata specifically for her._

_I beg of you to stop torturing me with your affections. It is not pleasant to create such turmoil in me when you are not within reach. _

_Your declarations make me dream of having your face in my hands, your breath on my lips, your eyes locked with mine as I whisper my sweet adulation for you. _

_Oh, Rosalie, I would walk on hot coals just to be with you at this moment. I would cut off an arm just to touch your face or see your smile. _

_If only I was able, I would be there, at your feet, bestowing my adoration for you a thousand fold. I would spend an eternity making you smile, as if every day were a blessing. _

_I would dedicate my entire being to ensure that you have all that your heart desires. _

_My days seem dull without hearing from you and your letters bring such warmth to my chest, but it leaves a tingling ache in its wake. _

_England deeply regrets the loss of Queen Victoria but the Edwardian era brings new promises. Everything looks extravagant and beautiful. The rich are richer, and beautiful. _

_Until your next letter, I send to you a thousand kisses._

_- Your Edward_

_P.S. My heart seems to have wandered off somewhere. I think it is located in Forks with a charming young lady, please inform her to keep it safe before my return._

* * *

_June, 1902._

Rosalie watched her opponent's Adam's apple bob as he finished the last drop of champagne from his flute. When their eyes met, her lips spread into a devilish smile that was quickly returned with a deep laughter from him.

"Miss Hale–" the young gentleman started, leaning toward her so he could look into her mesmerizing eyes.

"Oh, please. I believe there should be no formalities between us, considering I am about to take your five hundred dollars home and spend it on beautiful gowns. Might I suggest a first name basis?" She paused to look at her cards, and then turned to look at him with a bright smile plastered on her face. "Please call me, Rose."

He watched how her full pink lips wrapped around the sobriquet she had given herself. "Rose," he said. "Like the beautiful flower with thorns," he commented with amusement dancing in his irides.

He cleared his throat, and she noticed that his eyes were a bit glassy from the wine. "Should you even be here? I would have thought ladies, such as yourself, seldom developed an interest for card games, not to talk of gambling."

Rosalie's fingers flicked the cards in her hand. "First of all, I am only a lady by title. And I was not aware that card games were restricted to a specific gender. If I can play, then why would I not?" she asked, exuding confidence. "I did warn you not to wager with me."

Rosalie already knew she had him. The way he fiddled with his necktie, clenched his jaw, cracked his knuckles and drank his wine, showed signs that she was going to win this _piquet _game. She had already won the previous _parties_ and that was how the stake had increased to five hundred. Men, she thought as she looked at her set of cards once again, they always wanted to prove a point even when they were already losing.

"Indeed, you did. But I might have just been trying to be the gentleman that I am by letting you win, considering this is the first time you have played in public." He leaned back into his chair, his eyes returning to his cards. "I may not want to disgrace you in front of other gentlemen here," he said.

Her eyes flickered around the room before her gaze rested back on his face. "I doubt that, my lord," she said. "After all, losing five hundred will definitely wound your ego rather than prove your gallantry."

He sighed and made a declaration of his cards, silently announcing that Rosalie had the better hand. Rosalie smiled as he reached into his pocket and begrudgingly handed her the money.

Rosalie planted a kiss on his cheek before Mark escorted her out of the room.

"Not bad, not bad at all, dear cousin," Mark congratulated her, tapping her arm as they rejoined the guests in the ballroom. "I am beginning to think that perhaps cards are your specialty."

"Why, I certainly think winning may be more of my specialty, Mark," she laughed.

Rosalie knew that the older women were talking about her now as she stood with Mark. They must have been whispering about how she had joined the men's card games when she was supposed to be with them, dancing and chatting about the weather and other irrelevant topics. It was of no consequence to Rosalie. According to her, they were all just jealous that they lacked the courage to challenge a man, be it in card games or an actual conversation.

When she saw Isabella at the other end of the hall, she waved her gloved hand. Isabella waved back and she responded by blowing a kiss. Mark cleared his throat, a sign that he was uncomfortable at the sight of his former friend. Rosalie laughed at his discomfort.

"You know I would have thought that your trip to Italy shaped you and erased your memories of last summer." She turned to him.

"A man can never forget that kind of embarrassment. Although, I do think it was Jasper who had the short end of the stick."

"Something tells me he did not care for the rejection, which brings me to think that perhaps he has a mistress somewhere, or someone who keeps his bed warm at night, for him not to even consider the prospect of a betrothal."

"Perhaps he likes being uncommitted, like me."

"Even you, the worst of all rakes in Forks, sought companionship at one point, even when I particularly advised you that it would be a wild goose chase."

"And never again," he said with finality.

"Who is _that_?" Rosalie asked as her eyes caught the sight of a young, tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the opposite end of the room.

Mark followed her gaze. "Ah, that would be Royce King from New York. Just newly arrived. Quite the cad, I hear."

"He is handsome," Rosalie acknowledged with a smile wavering on her lips.

She noticed that he was engaged in a conversation with the loquacious Lady Faye and her daughter, Jessica, who looked like a frightened mouse hiding from a cat. "I see Faye and her daughter are already casting their nets."

As if he was drawn to the conversation they were having, Royce's eyes roamed to their direction and caught Rosalie's own. His lips drew a smile across his face as their gazes held each other's, unwaveringly. Unlike any normal lady, who would have turned away and blushed, Rosalie stared directly at him.

Even as Royce stopped talking to the woman whose name he had forgotten, and her temporarily mute daughter, Rosalie's gaze did not falter. As he headed straight toward her, Rosalie used the opportunity to rake his form.

He was clad in a pair of black pantaloons with a white waist coat, accompanied by a shirt with a winged collar. His evening attire accentuated every inch of his masculinity. His face was handsome, and suggested he was in his mid twenties. As he got closer to her, Rosalie could see the thick, dark eyebrows, which brought attention to his dark blue eyes.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I believe that we have not had the pleasure of meeting. I am Royce King," he said in a voice so deep that Rosalie could feel it in her bones. His eyes hypnotized her as he gathered her right hand in his left and planted a soft kiss on the back of it.

"And I am Lady Rosalie Hale. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Rosalie granted him the benefit of seeing her smile.

"Would you care to join me for an impromptu dance, Miss Rosalie?" he asked.

"Of course."

He led her to the center of the ballroom just as the orchestra began to play a different arrangement.

"Rumor has it that you are not the gentleman you are initially perceived to be," she said, feeling his hand settle at her lower back.

"I shall be very straight with you, Miss Rosalie. I have a mouth on me that appears to be very crude, and I have noticed, much to my disappointment, that it is not appreciated in Forks. It is a pity that conformity is not one of my characteristics; I wonder how I shall fare."

Rosalie's head tilted back, laughing and gaining attention from nearby couples. "I think I might have already taken to you, Royce."

"I am glad I amuse you."

Together, they danced and ignored the glares from Lady Faye's direction.

* * *

_August, 1902._

_My Only Beloved,_

_If I did not know any better, I would think that in your last letter, you addressed me as your immortal beloved._

_Yet, you claim that I am the one who tortures you?_

_You do not want me to bestow you with my undying affection but you kill me sweetly and slowly with your own words? How very unfair of you, my love._

_If you are able to silence me with just words, what shall happen when you touch me?_

_I fear that any breath against your lips may be my last; your penetrating eyes and beautiful face the cause of my heart ceasing in my chest._

_My skin will probably melt under your touch and my ears may be forever deafened by your adulation._

_I would rather die than have you cut an arm from that perfect body of yours. And if you did so, how would you expect my skin to burn under your touch?_

_If you were here, I guarantee that you would definitely not be at my feet. I shall be the one to inform you about my ardent love._

_Though the distance separates us, the profound feelings I carry in my heart do not decrease, not even an inch._

_I return your thousand kisses with a thousand more._

_Love, Rosalie._

_P.S. I have kept your heart with me, and I shall only return it when you return mine._

* * *

_October, 1902. _

_My Heart, _

_It pleases me to know that your heart is in my possession. Although, I should let you know that I have absolutely no intention of giving it back. I am a very selfish being when it comes to matters regarding that aspect. So you may keep mine while I shall hang on to yours. _

_I find it charming of you to think that I shall not bless your feet with my kisses. You should know that I hold you in such high regard, and so, it is I who will be undoubtedly grateful to be in your presence or to know that you desire my love in every way. _

_You are the one whose beauty radiates as the sun and keeps shining in all its glory for thousands to see. _

_You are the one with the voice that sounds more harmonious than any musical piece I can write or play. _

_You are the one whose words make mine seem like dirt in comparison, all because of the magnificence that accompanies each letter. _

_You are the one who makes my heart seem as if it has been searching for something all these years. _

_I am nothing but the dark cloak that covers the sky in the night, and you are that special star that glitters and makes me shine, all because of your love. _

_I could swear that my heart did not start beating until it felt your love flowing through my veins. _

_So you see, my dear, it is I who has the treasure. _

_Send my greetings to your father, Isabella and her family. I hope they are well._

_Until I have the pleasure of your presence, my fingers yearn to caress your skin. _

_Your Edward. _

_P.S. Would it be possible for me to borrow my mind back? I am afraid it is devoid of intelligence and reason, and is thoroughly consumed by thoughts of you. _

* * *

_February, 1903._

As Alice gazed into the eyes of her lover, her body was cocooned within his strong arms. Her right hand had found a resting spot above his heart, and she felt as if she was in the safest place in the world. Her troubles stayed away when she was with him like this, but she knew that this comfort would not last long.

"Jasper," she whispered, and immediately, his eyes opened and a smile brightened his face. She pushed his hair away from his forehead and he kissed her palm. She was surprised that his kisses could still create such a warm feeling in her chest. "I love you."

They rarely said the words to each other. They were not the kind of people who needed to say it or hear it, their love was merely expressed by their actions. But on this particular night, she felt as though she needed to say them so they could give her strength for what she was about to say next.

"I love you, too," he replied before she had a chance to continue.

Her gaze dropped from his face to his chest. "I think that perhaps," she started in a trembling voice, "you should get married."

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, his fingers sketching lines on her hand. "I know this place where there is a minister who will agree to wed us. It is in that small village, Salinas. No one would ever know. I can tell my father I am visiting friends and we can go there quickly. Once we are married, we will inform everyone, I am sure nothing can come between us then."

Alice sighed, knowing he was wrong. When she had suggested the idea of a betrothal, she had not taken the possibility of being his wife into consideration. She could never be his wife. She knew it could not happen in this lifetime, perhaps in another life, when she was not a maid and he was not a lord.

She removed her body from his comforting embrace. Sitting up on the bed, she wrapped her arms around her knees. "I think you should get married to someone of your class, Jasper. Someone who is young, wise and someone who is of a rich family. Someone who _has _a real family."

"Why?" Jasper asked in confusion, as if he could not fathom why he would desire such a woman.

Alice stood up from the bed, infuriated that he was pretending to be oblivious about matters concerning both of them. "Your father is always going to be against this, Jasper. He may not know now, but he will never accept us. And he will always want you to get married. Last year, it was my mistress. This year, he offered you different women for you to choose from. We cannot keep pretending that you are never going to marry someday. You are not going to be with me forever." She looked out the window and stared into the dark night. "I am six and twenty, your senior, and with absolutely nothing to offer. I would never be considered as a wife to the likes of you. I love you, and that is enough for me. I am completely content knowing that you once loved me. And if you get married, I will be happy."

"And what of me?" Jasper asked with annoyance. "Did you even consider my happiness? I will definitely not be happy if I am married to someone other than you. I feel devastated that you would even entertain such a thought, when I cannot." He swiveled her body to face him.

His finger removed the hair from her face. "Marry me," he declared simply.

"Jasper, I cannot–"

"Marry me, tonight. I shall have my carriage prepared right away and we can leave for the village. It is less than four miles from here. We do not even need to come back."

"Isabella–Lady Swan–I cannot just leave like that. They have been nothing but kind to me and if I just take off without a word that would be–"

"I will bring you back before the sun rises," he insisted and she noticed the determination coloring his eyes.

"Then, what happens after that?" she asked, even though she knew he had already convinced her.

"I will tell my father that I am wed. It is what he desires, after all. He will have no choice but to accept it."

The notion of becoming his wife this night made Alice's heart pump wildly in her chest. It would have been a scandalous elopement if she were of importance, however, she was not. The only person she was important to was asking her to be his forever. She had no family who would object to such a decision. And she did not think she could refuse such an offer.

Alice was a woman, who usually thought before she did things. She always considered the future before she made a decision. But she never could collect her thoughts when she was near Jasper. So why should she start now?

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, "I will marry you, Jasper Henry Whitlock."

Jasper kissed her fervently before grabbing his coat. That night, they went to Salinas, and after being wed by the minister, they consummated their love in a small cottage.

~o~

_March, 1903. _

_My Love, _

_I have such good news to share, that I am afraid I cannot wait for your next letter. _

_My family and I are returning to Forks!_

_I divulged my feelings for you to my father and he decided that I return to secure your hand in marriage before other gentlemen do. _

_I cannot express how much happiness has encompassed me as of this moment. _

_I wanted it to be a surprise but I could no longer keep it a secret. I could hardly keep secrets from you. _

_We will arrive in the middle of April. _

_I cannot wait to have you in my arms, my love. _

_My imagination has been a pleasant companion. My dreams have conjured up images of what you may look like with the help of my memories, but I believe seeing you in the flesh will be much more pleasurable. _

_I will be counting every minute until I see your face. _

_Until I am by your side, I send you my love. _

_Your Edward. _

Isabella felt the beating of her heart in her throat as she finished the letter. She almost could not breathe.

Edward was coming back home and she had not had a chance to tell him that the letters were from her and not her best friend.

She had longed for his presence but she had not known that he would be back so soon. _So soon?_ She wanted to laugh at the incredulity of that thought. It had been five years and some months since he left. Of course, she had known he would, one day, return.

How would Edward feel when he found that Rosalie, the woman he loved so passionately, was not in love with him? How would he react to the knowledge that she never wrote any of those letters? How would he feel when he discovered that she had never thought of him, even for one minute, out of five years?

He would be very distraught, she thought. He would be expecting to see Rosalie's face and not hers. She could not withstand the disappointment and heartache he would be faced with if Rosalie did not acknowledge him when he arrived.

The sound of her bedroom door opening almost caused Isabella to jump out of her skin. She folded the missive and kept it in the cupboard beside her bed, before turning to look at a smiling Rosalie.

"Look at you," Rosalie said, walking toward the four poster bed. "I am the one sneaking around, and yet you are the one with the suspicious look on her face. Did I interrupt something?"

"Where were you?" Isabella asked, avoiding Rosalie's question.

"Spending some time with Royce. We were smoking cigars, and then he had to leave."

"If your father–"

"Oh, he will not be back until tomorrow evening."

"And what about your chaperone, Madam Willborough?"

"She was fast asleep," Rosalie replied, getting under the covers. "That woman snores like she wants to swallow the whole manor. I can hear it all the way from my bedroom which is quite far from hers."

"Rosalie," Isabella admonished.

"'Tis the truth." Rosalie shrugged. "What were you doing?"

Rosalie's question reminded Isabella about Edward's letter, and she knew she had to tell her friend the truth or some part of it. "Rosalie, I need a favor from you."

For now, she would tell Rosalie about the letters and ask her to follow up with the charade, until she could find a suitable time to tell Edward the truth.

* * *

*_Knight of Infinite Resignation _is from Kierkegaard's philosophical work _Fear and Trembling._

*_pithos _is the Greek word for a large jar.

*_Countess Giulietta Guicciardi_ was Beethoven's piano student in the nineteenth century.

**Thank you so much for reading. Please, let me know your thoughts. **


	6. The Paradox

**To Pree.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to their respective owners. **

* * *

The Paradox

Love is paradoxical. It is a phenomenon that plagues its victims with a blessing and a curse. The blessing is the feeling of happiness that one feels at the sight, sound and touch of the beloved. The curse comes in various forms.

~o~

"_If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment?_

_If a bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?_

_Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain?_

_Or grieve at my fate, when I know 'tis in vain?_

_Yet, so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart, _

_That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart."_

– Henry Purcell's The Fairy Queen Act 3.

* * *

_February, 1903._

Alice Whitlock, née Brandon, could not stop her heart from thundering along in time with the battering of horses' hooves against the cobblestone street beneath them. She cast a glance at her husband who sat opposite her in the black carriage. Alice was hoping to find reassurance, but even his eyes – which were usually so warm and could administer comfort instantaneously – failed to do so at that moment.

Last night, her impetuous decision to marry Jasper Whitlock seemed to be the most practical and rational one she had ever made, but as she sat, she began to wonder if it was most imprudent. She had also failed to relay this new development in her life to her employer, for she felt that if she had not received an approval from Lord Whitlock himself, then there was no need to inform her madam with such news at all.

Throughout her life, she was not the sort of person who was associated with good fortune, excluding the man who occupied the other half of the carriage. She possessed no qualities that would render her suitable in the eyes of Lord Whitlock. She was only laudable in matters that involved dusting carpets, washing the grime off dishes, cooking and tying ropes through grommet holes of dresses for her mistress. Practically, she was only worth fifteen dollars a year and that was not even sufficient enough to purchase a decent ball gown to make her look like a rich man's wife.

Before she could further ruminate on her distressing thoughts, the coach stopped and her eyes flew to Jasper whose chest indicated that he had just taken a very deep breath.

"Mrs. Whitlock," he called in a steady voice, offering his arm for support after he had stepped down from the carriage.

With unsteady fingers wrapped around his arm, she grasped tightly as she came down, her fingers digging into his skin for which he showed no signs of discomfort. The wind whistled around them and the street lamplights captured their faces before they stepped into the manor. Alice was familiar with the long corridor that led all the way to the Whitlock's drawing room and she measured each step counting the number of electric bulbs on her way. No sound could be heard apart from the plodding footsteps of the newly wedded couple and the guards following behind them.

Upon reaching the door, the only source of comfort that kept her whole, like a rope tying a stack of brooms together, was released from under her arm as Jasper turned to look at her. She braced herself as he took her right hand and planted kisses on her knuckles, albeit, the gesture could not stop her hands from shaking.

"You have to wait here while I talk to my father," he said, and though she nodded in agreement, she could not comprehend why she had to stand with the guards while her husband went inside to deliver the news of their marriage to his father. It was _their _marriage, after all. They_ both_ made the decision to wed clandestinely without consulting his family so she could not fathom why only he had to break the news. However, considering her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and in the past, it had been her duty to obey rules, she complied and leaned against the door, waiting patiently for her husband.

The invisible clock ticked and ticked until loud voices engaging in a heated argument could be heard from the other side of the door. Alice pressed her ear against the door to help her eavesdrop, even though she did not consider it to be eavesdropping since they were talking about her.

"…of your propriety, this is the most irresponsible, inexplicable, asinine and ill-advised thing you have ever done!" William Whitlock shouted in exasperation. Alice was not sure one could use so many adjectives in a sentence. "I said marry, I did not say pick the first riff raff you see. A man of your aristocracy should not associate himself with someone who is beneath his social standing. Why do you think God is in heaven and we mortals are here on earth? Such a thing is not done!"

"Father, I will respect you because I am your son and it is my responsibility to do so. However, I will _not _tolerate any insults you may bestow on my wife. You may not like my decision but you will sure as hell respect it." Jasper's tone had a cutting edge that Alice had never heard.

"So, you will not obey my authority?" asked William in a voice that demanded his son's acquiescence.

"No. This is one thing that I am afraid I cannot undo, mainly because I choose not to," Jasper returned.

There was silence, and for a minute, Alice had considered the possibility of Lord Whitlock strangling his son to death. She was about to open the door and check for herself when she heard his voice.

"Then you will be sent to help your fellow soldiers of this country in the Philippines. That will be your penance. You will work under military ranks and help the armed services deal with the war happening between us and the Philippines."

"But that war ended last year," Jasper countered.

"*Aguinaldo surrendered but it is unofficially still going on because of the *Irreconcilables that are still causing trouble. You will be sentenced there for a term until I see that you have become the man who I have not yet considered you to be. Perhaps reality will help shake that brain of yours. Until then, we shall not speak of your disgrace again."

Despite the distance this would create between father and son, Lord Whitlock trusted that Jasper would be commanded with the firm hand of his friend, Colonel Derwin.

"I have only one condition, that you secure my wife a home. A decent home; a manor like your own, and that she is comfortable and treated with respect as a woman married to a man with a respectable fortune should be. You will see to it that she is welcomed by the society in my absence."

There was another interval of silence before Lord Whitlock spoke again. "You will leave in May and return when I am assured that you have completely learned your lesson. That is your punishment. If you refuse to go to war, I will see to it that you shall have no money. The both of you will be subjected to destitution, and believe me when I say, I will make sure of it."

"And if I go, what will happen to my wife?" continued Jasper.

"She will be comfortable as I am assuming that she is with child. She will obtain your annual allowances, as you have refused to deny her. You are dismissed."

Alice pulled away from the door when she heard Jasper's agreement. Jasper stepped out of the drawing room, and Alice peered into the room to catch a glimpse of her father-in-law before settling her eyes on Jasper.

"You idiot!" Alice shouted as her hand moved over Jasper's face impulsively. Her ferocity did not allow her to register that she had just slapped her husband. "How dare you accept that? How dare you think that you can make such a decision without asking for my consent first? And yet you claim that I am your first priority?" she continued, throwing her tiny fists against his chest.

"Alice, I am doing this for us." Jasper held her wrists. "We will–" he started, but got cut off.

"To think that you would even consider such an offer without even informing me?" She pulled her hands, forcefully, from his grasp. "To think that you would…you think I care for your worthless money? Money so inconsequential, that I have lived without it for years." She poked his chest with her index finger as the indignation rolled off her. "You think I care for a manor, a few dollars, dresses that would all become frayed and tattered when I am all alone? None of those things are essential to my happiness. I married you so I could be with you!"

"And we shall be together, Alice. We–"

"When? When you are dead? You are going to war!" she cried. "In the first few months that we are supposed to share our matrimony and conceive children, you will be spending it fighting in the Philippines. And all for what? So I can be comfortable and be accepted into the society? A society that cares not for my life or death." She wiped the angry tears that ran down her cheeks.

"If I do this, I will be in control of my own allowances. I will be my own man, Alice. And I will return when my term is over. Father will see to it," he said. "I promise. I will be back."

"If you are dead, I shall hold you responsible for carelessly throwing away the one thing that is of high importance to me in this world, mark my words, Jasper Whitlock."

~o~

_The Swan's Manor, April 1903. _

Two young women sat – side by side – with anticipation in the drawing room of the Swan Manor. One of them was a striking blonde, who was growing slightly impatient as she waited for the young man she had no interest in meeting, but was doing so for her best friend. The other was a brunette, whose heart knocked wildly against her ribcage because the boy she had been pining for was finally returning home.

"Do you think he will be handsome?" Rosalie leaned toward Isabella and asked her in a whisper.

The sound of a phaeton and a couple of voices interrupted them, and Isabella quickly rushed to the window to see a carriage wheeling in front of the gate. Her heart started to pound erratically when she saw the faces of the people that had been present in her childhood get down from the carriage. Dr. Carlisle Cullen got down first and proffered an arm to help his wife.

Isabella's fingers tightened around the thick embroidery curtain, and she was sure her heart skipped a beat as a tall gentleman stepped out of the carriage. She quickly turned away before she could see his face. Seeing him was like reading a book; she did not want to spoil the outcome for herself before she had the chance to view him completely.

"They are coming inside!" Isabella's voice was on edge as she and Rosalie resumed their seats, sitting up straight and staring at their laps.

"Dr. Cullen, Lady Cullen, Lord Cullen and Miss. George," the butler announced, causing the people occupying the drawing room to stand up as they awaited the presence of their guests.

Isabella bit her lips so hard, she thought it might bleed. For there stood the man of her dreams, clad in immaculate traveling attire, which clung to his masculine frame in every possible way. His apparel consisted of a pair of tight-fitting grey pantaloons and a lounge coat that was coupled with a white shirt and a dark tie.

For a moment, everything in the room had disappeared apart from him and her. She could no longer hear the voices of her family, who acknowledged and welcomed their guests, for her heartbeat was thumping so loudly in her ears. Her eyes remained glued to his figure in awe.

The image of the chubby boy with cute, fat cheeks and short, stout fingers could not compare to the handsome, lanky gentleman that stood before her. His hair was the only thing that had not changed within those six years. It was in absolute disarray, which was a contrast to his perfection. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. She wanted to touch his solid cheek bones, his jaw, and feel how slim his hands and fingers were. She wanted to wrap her arms around his frame and feel the lankiness he had grown into.

She wondered if the journey even made him weary, for he showed no signs that he had traveled a very stressful journey at all. She was not sure if his eyes could have been possibly greener than they were before he left, for her memory only held a vague image of him.

God, she was ogling him!

As she snapped back to earth and realized that there were other people in the room, he started to approach her. A thousand thoughts began to swirl in her head as he took each step, closing the distance between them with a confident walk, as if he was sure of his destination.

Perhaps he would remember her. Perhaps he would suddenly realize that it was her who wrote those letters. Perhaps his heart would recognize hers.

But all those thoughts vanished into thin air as he took Rosalie's gloved hand – she had even forgotten the presence of her friend – and planted a delicate kiss on it.

Oh, it hurt! The disappointment was as sharp as a dagger, piercing right through her heart. She was not aware of how painful it would feel to have him acknowledge Rosalie as his lover. The sight almost brought tears to her eyes, which she instantly held back and kept away until she could release them in solitude.

Her mind recalled a paragraph he had written in one of his letters:

'_I feel grief toward the notion that you hold consciously in your mind that I will not be able to match your words to your face. What difference could there be in the two? Yes, the beauty of your face is a mystery for it must have changed with that of time. However, your words and you are one. You are a part of me, my dear; I will be able to recognize you in an instant once I return home.'_

And before she could even recover from that pain that seared her chest, he spoke. "Did my heart love 'till now? Forswear its sight. For I never saw true beauty 'til this night." His voice was a pure, harmonious sound, so velvet and soothing, it slithered through her insides like silk and left bruises in its wake.

Anguish flowed through her veins as she recognized that he was quoting _Romeo_, the words left a severe ache in her already damaged heart. She braced herself as Rosalie offered him one of her charming, seductive smiles that could just about cause a man to salivate like a dog.

She was sure Rosalie had not recognized his words. The beauty that radiated from Rosalie's heart-shaped face was so blinding that Isabella knew she was no match for her best-friend, nor would she ever be.

She was about to excuse herself and leave the new-found lovers to get reacquainted, for she felt she was interrupting. But before she could leave, Edward called her name.

"Isabella," he said with a dazzling smile. Her breath caught in her throat.

Not even a kiss was bestowed upon her hand.

Not even a look of love flashed in his eyes.

Instead, he looked like he was trying to recall her fifteen year old image. And she had felt fifteen again, like the girl who waited for him to say goodbye to her before he left.

Almost nothing had changed, and yet, everything had.

"You have grown into a...pretty young lady."

"Th-thank you," she stammered, her voice seemed to be cracking the longer she stayed there. She willed every modicum of strength to be able to say her next words in coherence. "May I be excused? I feel slightly unwell."

Renee glanced at her for a minute with a raised brow. "I hope you are not coming down with something? You may leave, but come back fully rested for dinner. We have guests." She patted Esme's hand.

"Yes mama," she croaked, walking out of the room.

She wanted to go to her bedchamber and lock herself away until she could find the strength to be in his presence again, but she felt like running would be more effective. With that thought, she ran out of her manor. The tears fell fast as her feet raced through the gate, ignoring the gatekeeper's protests and fleeing from the ache that was resided in her heart.

~o~

"Bloody hell!" Jacob Black exclaimed in frustration, dumping the hammer on the anvil with unnecessary force. The action caused the wrought iron to bounce up in the air before landing on the floor with a loud _clank_. He had been trying to shape it into a horseshoe, but the iron had gotten cold too quickly and he had not succeeded in making a concave shape on time.

That was the third one he had messed up today. He flexed his muscle and cracked his neck to remove the numbness. Sighing, he picked up a dirty cloth from the wooden table beside him and wiped the sweat off his face. There was no way that today was going to be productive now, he thought acerbically, reaching for his flask and downing the remaining cider in one gulp.

When he finished drinking the alcohol, he wiped the liquid that had trailed down his chin. Wiping his brow, he thought of all the things he would have to do tomorrow since he failed in accomplishing any work today. He cleaned his hands on his trousers and walked out of the barn.

As he was about to enter his father's cottage, the sight of a woman – no, a lady – sitting on a massive stone beside the fence stopped him.

His brow furrowed at her weeping form, and he glanced behind her to check if she had any companion. Not even a horse! He thought. How had she gotten here by herself without a guard or a chaperone? Were ladies of such class now allowed to wander on their own?

He cleared his throat silently to inform her of his presence. At the sound, her body jerked in surprise and she quickly wiped her tears. Now that Jacob had her attention, he was not sure what he wanted to say. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to determine how to ask if she was all right.

After a minute of pondering and gaining an unnecessary headache for himself, he asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"

"Yes," she said, turning away from him so he would not see her face. That informed him that she was lying, even though he was not sure why. She did not even know him.

"Have you lost your way, Miss?" he asked again. She had to be a few miles away from home. How the hell had she gotten here without a horse or a coach or one of those electric cars the rich now owned?

"No, I–I…" she stammered, and he was sure she was looking for an excuse.

He walked toward her, hoping that she would not be uncomfortable with his proximity. He just thought it was easier to make a conversation when he was closer to her.

"May I ask why you are crying?" he probed, standing next to her form. His body was so huge that he was able to block the sun from shining directly on her.

"It is nothing," she said in a louder voice, and he knew she had gotten herself together.

"Miss, I am sure that if it was nothing, you would not be here – of all places – crying."

"It is the sun. It seems to be affecting my eyes today. I swear I have never had such a problem before. I probably have not had a use for my tear ducts since I can remember."

He laughed heartily and she finally turned to look at him with a smile on her face. He was not sure what he had done to make her smile, but he was glad she was smiling and looking at him. And oh was she a beauty! Her brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, surrounding her pale face. A face that held the most gorgeous brown eyes that were so rich in color it made his heart race.

When she noticed he was staring at her for an unforgivable amount of time, her cheeks turned to the most adorable shade of pink he had ever seen. Her gaze dropped to her lap in shyness. Oh, she was a lady, all right! He thought.

"So, will you tell me why you are crying?" he asked, squatting down beside her, so he could look into those brown eyes.

"It is nothing." She waved off.

"And that, you have told me. But I know it is something, for surely, a woman as beautiful as you would not be in distress over nothing. Is it not a risk to run out here and stand under the sun just to gain a freckle?" He cocked an eyebrow in questioning.

Growing up, he had known women – well, ladies of such nature detested natural accidents like freckles. He never understood it, then again, he never understood women.

She chuckled, and then sighed. "Not that I get too worked up about things such as freckles, but if you must know, my dearest friend arrived today. And I have been in love with him since childhood and for the first time since he returned; he has failed to acknowledge my existence."

It is _always _about a man, Jacob thought. "Might I ask your name, Miss?"

"Bella," she said.

"Ah, it perfectly fits your face." He smiled and was rewarded with her blush again. "Any man who does not see the beauty in this face, and one who causes tears on such a face, should not be regarded of importance."

"You will not understand. It is complicated," she replied, staring into the fields.

"It always is," he said. "I do not know much about love, but I believe that if it is difficult, then you are definitely not doing something right."

Bella provided no answer to that statement.

"Please, do come in and let me entertain you, seeing as how you have showed up at my door unexpectedly, I believe you are now my guest. My father will not be back until sunset," he said.

"I should go home." She stood up immediately. "My parents must be worried about my whereabouts," she said with a deep breath and his face fell. "But if I do return again, will I be welcomed?"

"Of course." The smile he wore was almost too wide for his face to contain. "Please, let me escort you home. A lady should not go anywhere without an escort. I will get my horse." He stood up and walked to the stables.

After a few minutes, he arrived with his brown horse, Warrior. "Did you walk all the way here?"

She shook her head. "I ran."

"He must have been an ugly gentleman for you to have covered such a distance," Jacob said, helping her mount the horse.

"He was extremely far from it," she replied, clinging to Jacob as they rode back into the main city.

~o~

Isabella had considered claiming to be further indisposed when she was summoned for dinner that evening. But alas, she found herself sitting in front of a table laid with an immaculate white table cloth upon which was the finest set of china in the Swan Manor. Isabella could not determine if it were for display or for aiding in the actual use of consumption.

Seated on her left was the young Edward Cullen, who she had not yet gained the pleasure of conversing with because he was completely besotted with Rosalie who sat on his left side. The food was delicious and the occupants of the dining table commented with delightfulness at the dishes that were served.

Her mother had been worried about her indisposition, especially after she had abruptly excused herself after the arrival of their guests. She kept pushing her to eat the delectable dishes that were set on the table but every time she wanted to push a fork of lamb into her mouth, Edward and Rosalie would burst into laughter over something that was utterly amusing.

Jealousy, an emotion that she had seldom felt or expressed, churned in her stomach when she descried that he had linked both of their hands surreptitiously under the table. She could not help but notice how his whole body had angled to Rosalie, and with a despondent sigh, she drank her wine and blamed herself. She was so grateful to her mother who helped in pulling his attention away from Rosalie when she inquired about his studies.

"So Edward, tell us about your education in England. How is learning under your father proving to be? I hope not too difficult," asked Renee, who was dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

Edward laughed, and Isabella reveled in the sound. "Well, I find that working under my father, though arduous, is absolutely gratifying. I am not yet allowed to perform surgeries of any kind given the dangers that can be caused, but I have gathered a lot of knowledge."

"And could you please enlighten us with specific details?" Renee continued.

"I am delighted to say that I have learned the techniques of using *ligature in avoiding blood loss. Which is quite essential in medicine because when a patient loses blood there is no guarantee of survival, considering that we are yet to discover suitable methods for curing blood poisoning and blood loss can invariably lead to death. With the industrial revolution that occurred earlier in the nineteenth century, this medical problem has quite been prominent."

He sounded like he was reading from a medical journal, Isabella thought.

"Oh my! Now that definitely sounds like a successful student, Charlie! I am sure you will make a very remarkable doctor, Mr. Cullen," Renee commended. "Dr. Cullen must be very proud of you," she said, turning her attention to Carlisle who was looking at his son with profound admiration. "And what are your plans after you have become a well accomplished young man? Marriage, I hope. Such a man with an enormous skill and talent, with good prospects should not be wasted. You have considered the notion of a betrothal, have you not?"

Isabella thought that there could not be a better moment for the earth to open up and swallow her, saving her from having to hear Edward's intentions of marriage to Rosalie. She might have just choked at the thought of it.

"Yes, I have." Edward dropped his fork. "It was actually the main reason I came back from England."

"What joy!" Renee exclaimed in happiness, and Isabella thought that perhaps she had confused Edward as her child, for his betrothal was not going to benefit her, so she could not comprehend what brought on her excitement. "I am glad that, at least, some people still have the decency to follow tradition." At that statement, Renee shot a look toward Isabella's direction. "Hopeless fantasies such as love do not get people anywhere but to penury."

"I disagree, ma'am, I do believe that love is indispensable for one's marriage, for then how can that marriage ever thrive and last? I strongly believe it should be the foundation for marital bliss."

Renee could not contain her shock; she almost knocked her glass of wine from the table. Isabella stifled her laughter in her arm under the disguise of a cough. She received a glare from her mother, and then straightened her back and continued staring at her food.

"I am not sure I understand you correctly, Mr. Cullen. Surely, you cannot believe that love constitutes an importance in the nature of marital affairs. For if it were so, there would be no wealthy families. Our parents sought a companionship that could bring an advantage for their families. If they were chasing after their own hearts, they would have never achieved such a goal and we definitely would not be here eating such delicacies."

"Yes, but it would have been at the expense of their happiness," countered Edward, taking a sip of his wine. "For they would have been doomed in such circumstances even with the money. Money is temporary but love – when it is found in its true, pure state – is eternal."

When he finished his argument, Isabella glanced at his hand that was resting on the table. She wanted so badly to tell him that the love between them was true, and the love between Rosalie and him was just a façade because of his desire for beauty.

Silence fell upon the table as Renee looked at the man she had praised earlier with disbelief. Isabella was sure her mother no longer thought him to be so grand. Everyone had thought the discourse of love and betrothals had ended until Renee continued.

"Love presents a choice," she said, looking at no one in particular but at the table. "It is an undisciplined emotion that is absolutely reckless, not to talk of selfish." She picked up her knife and drove it into the meat in her plate and began to slice it – no, butcher it – with annoyance. "I doubt that a person should be given the advantage of rejecting husbands who are of superiority, gentlemen who are capable of providing comfort, stability and wealth that can support a family. Only God knows what Isabella requires of a man, perhaps being married to a pauper shall teach her that choice is definitely a curse as it is a blessing. When her father dies, who shall she depend on? She will have nothing and no one strong enough to fend for her. Love will not produce fine bread, nor will it provide the beautiful clothes that enhance her beauty, beauty that was given to her to attract noble men. She would be an old maiden who will not even be granted the liberty of dancing at balls. She would stand in the background and observe her mates with their husbands and what will she have? Nothing."

"Mother!" Isabella gasped.

And that was how the exquisite dinner ended before everyone moved to the drawing room. Isabella sat at the far end of the room, reading poetry while Rosalie and Edward sat at the pianoforte. He was trying to impress her with one of Mozart's pieces. Miss George – Edward's cousin – who was not used to the long duration of sea travel, found herself to still be slightly sea sick and was sleeping it off in her bedchamber. Her father had returned with Dr. Cullen to his study, where they discussed matters of importance. Her mother and Lady Cullen were engaged in a deep conversation about the upcoming ball for the arrival of the Cullens while throwing casual glances at the beloved couple near the piano.

Isabella's heart nearly stopped its rhythm when Edward began to play a familiar melody that she could play on the violin with her eyes closed, Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. She tried to focus on the words of John Keats but discovered that she could not concentrate until he had played the very last note.

After he had finished playing, Isabella decided that it was time to retire to her bedchamber for the night. She had had enough for one day and all her emotions were in such turmoil that being awake would definitely drive her into severe unconsciousness. She picked up her book and announced her retirement and left the drawing room.

"Bella." She was only halfway through the hallway when he called her name.

He approached her before she turned around to look at him. The gasoliers helped to illuminate his face and she could see that he looked quite concerned.

"I want to apologize for dinner. I believe it was I who caused the unnecessary discussion about your personal affairs and for that I am undoubtedly sorry," he said.

"You have no need to be troubled. I assure you that I am not, in the least bit, offended. My mother is usually strongly opinionated about matters concerning love and marriage, and this is not the first time she has spoken about it. In fact, I have found myself to be quite familiar with it. Thank you." She curtseyed and turned back to the direction of her bedchamber.

The last thing she wanted to do was to be stuck in his presence alone with no chaperone. Though as she walked back to her bedchamber, she could not help but feel that she had a chance to tell him about those letters. But what good would that do? She thought. He had just arrived on his first day here, and the last thing she wanted to cause him was any form of discomfort, not to talk of heartbreak. Perhaps, he would realize it sooner for himself. This was her hope.

"I cannot help but feel as if I have somehow offended you," he continued.

Isabella stopped and closed her eyes before drawing in a deep breath. "No, not at all," she said, turning her head to the side, in a way that she could not quite see him but she could know how close his presence was. For in a way, he had offended her from the first moment she saw him, and she could not blatantly lie to his face.

"Your actions contradict the aforementioned, I am afraid," he said, taking a few steps toward her. If she leaned backward, she would be able to fall in his arms. The thought almost made it hard for her to breathe. His proximity was making her insides squirm. She had to get away from him to gain some semblance of control.

"And what makes you believe so?" She took a few steps forward to right her senses. She wondered if he felt the tension, that particular tension that was causing her body to be as taut as a string of a tuned violin.

"Is my presence so insufferable that you choose to flee from it whenever you are permitted with the chance?"

Now, she was confused. Was he referring to the distance she took just now to get away from him? Or was this something entirely different?

"I hardly–" She swallowed.

"You have been avoiding me since I arrived. You left immediately before I could even converse with you. You have hardly emerged from your bedchamber since you came in with that–"

"Jacob?" she said, but her tone made it sound like a question.

"Yes. And you have refused to say a word to me, even before dinner, I approached you and you went in the other direction. After dinner, you excluded yourself and went to read in a little corner by yourself like an introvert. Albeit, I find it intriguing that you were reading a work of great poets–"

"How did you know what I was reading?" she asked, still refusing to turn around and look at him.

"It was on the cover of the book you raised high enough to obscure your face."

"Oh."

"Yes." He paused. "I know we have not contacted each other for years now, and it was improper of me to have neglected you in the past while I wrote to Rosalie, but I was hoping that you would not let that build a gap between us. We have always been very good friends, perhaps something even more–"

"More?" she interrupted.

"Yes, more. We are very close friends, and I would hate to lose such a valuable relationship just because of my disregard, so please tell me if I have offended you so I can make it right," he pleaded.

Isabella felt her heart plummet, metaphorically, to the ground. In an instant, he had raised her hopes high enough that they were almost reaching the heavens until he crushed them and everything went black. They had been very close friends until she fell in love with him, and nothing was more difficult than seeing him love someone else.

She heaved a heavy sigh. "Edward, I am not offended, only indisposed. I have to retire to bed. We will talk in the morning."

With that finality, she continued to her bedchamber, and Edward could not stop her to further protest for he was called by Lady Cullen to the drawing room.

~o~

"Edward is handsome!" Rosalie said, accompanying her compliment with a giggle as she brushed her hair. "You know, I never, ever, thought he would grow up into an absolutely handsome man. Not only handsome but someone who is aspiring to pursue the medical field. He will be making about three hundred to eight hundred pounds, granted it is not that much, but considering that he is the son of an aristocrat, adding that to his salary would be enough to have a very satisfied family," she said, turning to look at Isabella who was on her bed, reading her book of poetry. "And he kept talking about all those letters," Rose continued when she did not reply. "I was not even aware that he continued sending letters to me, even after I rejected him. It was kind of surprising when you told me. And though, I had no idea of what both of you could have possibly talked about while pretending to be me, I could only hope that my own pretense was enough to assure him that it _was_ me. It was so difficult, Bella." She dropped the hair brush on the dressing table and walked over to the bed to sit directly in front of Isabella.

Bella kept silent as she turned the pages of her book with an impassive expression on her face.

"You are not in love with him, are you?" Rose asked suddenly and Bella's eyes flew to her face but Rose's eyes were on her lap, playing with the rope of her white nightgown. "Indisputably, a couple of letters that passed between two friends could not have possibly developed into a passionate _tendre_."

There was a silent question that hung in the air and was desperate for an answer, and if Rose had looked up, she would have seen her friend's face void of any controlled emotion, leaving only the pure reflection of love that was in Bella's heart.

"Rose," Bella started, thinking that perhaps the time had come to inform her of the truth. After all, they were best friends and they shared every secret apart from this particular one.

Nevertheless, whether Rose wanted to pretend that Bella never had such affections for Edward, or perhaps she simply could not have countenanced the notion that Bella could feel such an emotion that tore her parents apart, Bella did not know.

For once Rose had said the word, "Good," Bella knew that the conversation had been closed.

* * *

*_Emilio Aguinaldo_ was the first president of the Philippines (which was later called the First Philippine Republic). His presidency ran from 1899 – 1901. He was captured by General Frederick Funston in 1901 before he surrendered to the US. However, some of his followers refused to surrender.

The Philippine-American War started in 1899 after the Spanish-American war and officially ended on July 4th, 1902. However, there were still some members of the Katipunan society (a Philippine revolutionary society) that were fighting the Americans which took place until 1913.

*_Irreconcilables_ was a term used for the group that remained active during the war. They were from the remaining soldiers of the Katipunan society who continued to fight the United States Military.

*_Ligature_ is the act of suturing.

(Cited from Wikipedia and other sources)

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**A huge thanks to my wonderful team for using their red pen and giving me suggestions for this chapter. They're all amazing. **

**Thank you dear, amazing readers for your patience, and also for reading this story. Let me know what you think. **


	7. A Delicious Torment

**For Pree.**

**Disclaimer still applies. I own nothing, as usual. Any recognizable scenes, similar plotlines, characters, quotes, Shakespearean plays, all belong to their respective owners. Of course, the love letters belong to me and so does the rest of the story.**

* * *

A Delicious Torment

_He wishes for her to comprehend the depth of his emotion,_

_She wishes he would realize it is her he possesses such an emotion for._

_Together, they both desire the same thing,_

_Except one is blind and cannot see who his heart beats for._

~o~

"_The desire of the man is for the desire of the woman but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man."_ – Germaine De Stael.

* * *

The next day awakened with the bright sun peering through the curtains and the promise of a good morning. Isabella woke up and took a hot bath before her new personal maid, Mary, helped her into an S-bend corset, which was followed by a number of petticoats. After being aided into her undergarments, she slipped into a high collared green satin dress. The dress had an intricate embroidery pattern at the neckline with short puffy sleeves. It cinched her waist, which was narrowed further with the aid of a belt.

Isabella stared at her reflection in the mirror as Mary began to style her hair. At the sight of Mary dressing her hair, a melancholic feeling settled in her chest at the thought of Alice's absence. Since her scandalous marriage to Jasper Whitlock, which came as a shock to the elite of Forks, Alice had moved out of the Swan Manor to her own house where she resided with her husband. They had seldom seen each other due to a couple of reasons. The newly wedded couple wanted to spend some time on their own before Jasper was enlisted in the army. Alice had also thought it unwise, and uncomfortable, to visit a place where she once worked as a maid.

Hitherto, Isabella had not considered the possibility of a visit to her friend's house, for she did not want to cause any discomfort for Alice. However, she needed an acquaintance that she could relate her feelings to, and Rosalie proved to be of no assistance.

Once Mary had finished with her morning duties, Isabella sent her away and decided to go and have breakfast. She tried to muster up the fortitude that she knew she needed to face Rosalie and Edward as she made her way downstairs. Yesterday, she had failed in controlling her emotions; and it was in Edward's best interest that she did so, at least until she could find a suitable time to inform him of the truth. With regard to herself, she also thought it best to try and avoid him under any circumstances. She wished for their paths not crossing as she entered the dining room.

Much to her dissatisfaction, she found Edward sitting at the head of the table, concentrating on a newspaper. On the table, in front of him, was a tray of poached eggs on toast, hot muffins, broiled veal cutlets, fried tomatoes, grapes, cake, and a cup of steaming black coffee.

He dropped his newspaper on the table and stood up immediately as soon as he saw her. "Good morning, Miss Bella." He smiled. "Please, may I have the pleasure of your company for breakfast? Rose and Jane decided to go and see your father's electric car before he left. They must have decided to take a turn about the fields. And I am afraid I have not the faintest idea where our mothers might have gone to. So I find myself alone, with the company of Madam Willborough, who, unfortunately for me, is dozing off in the parlor."

Isabella began to think that perhaps there was a force counteracting all her plans. For when she decided to avoid Edward at all costs, fate had intervened and presented an opportunity for her to be trapped in his presence, alone, and without a chaperone! Should she decide to leave him, it would prove to be discourteous on her part. However, the alternative was no more pleasant.

After a few moments of hesitation, she moved to the table and sat at the opposite end from him. Perhaps, if enough distance separated them, she would not be forced to make any sort of communication with him that could possibly lead her into trouble.

On the contrary, Edward found the distance to be quite incomprehensible. He did not understand why she was going to such lengths to avoid talking to him. He knew that her mother must have upset her yesterday by bringing up her personal matters at the table during dinner, and it had been his fault, but was she still sad because of it? Had she lied yesterday when she said that she was not angry with him? Or was it decorum that dictated she leave such a void between them. Perhaps, she thought of him as a rogue who would seize the slightest opportunity to maul her in the absence of company, even though he was in love with her best friend.

He sat down and picked up his newspaper, looking slightly befuddled, and then shook his head trying to clear the image from his mind.

"Is anything wrong?" Isabella asked, just as the butler arrived at her side, pouring tea from a porcelain pitcher into her mug.

"No…not quite," he said, turning back to his newspaper, as her eyes flitted to the tea being poured into her mug. "Except," –he dropped the newspaper on the table– "I am afraid I have bad breath for you to choose a seat so far away from me." Edward's face was amused as he took a sip of his coffee, his lips twitching as he tried to hold back a smile. "It would require an awful lot of energy just to make a conversation, with you over there and me right here. Or do you not find me interesting enough to engage with?" His left eyebrow rose up. "I promise I am not a boring chap, no matter what you have heard about England," he joked.

Isabella smiled and obliged his request by moving a couple of chairs closer. The butler followed, carrying her breakfast tray.

Before she could even take a seat, he tsked in disapproval. "I swear," he raised his hands in surrender, "I do not bite." He grinned.

How was she supposed to deny him anything when his grin made her weak in her knees? She moved closer still until she was just two chairs away from him and she was sure he was satisfied with her position before she took a seat.

They ate breakfast in utter silence.

Isabella used this stillness to eat her muffin and recollect her thoughts. Being in his company was absolute torture. It was painful to sit next to him and be unable to share her feelings with him. She considered the notion of telling him the truth, but then decided against it. She needed to inform Rosalie first before telling him, so she redirected her thoughts to a different subject.

"So how was England?" she asked, even though she already knew. "I suppose it is much different from here."

"Not drastically." He smiled again, pleased that she had cultivated a conversation. "It is very much the same but I would say more beautiful. The Edwardian era has brought the rise of socialism and changes in technology, though I am sure that is also because of the twentieth century. The world is changing. Of course, social class is still considered to be important. A lower class man cannot mix with an upper class man. It is considered highly inappropriate, but here in America, it seems to be not as strict. I suppose that is a good thing."

Isabella thought perhaps that was the reason why he was bewildered when he had seen her riding back with Jacob yesterday, for he was a blacksmith. Perhaps, he thought it inappropriate to be riding on a horse with him. Some aristocrats took it as an offence to be caught mixing with the lower class, but generally, their accommodation to the lower class was not as severe as the English, just as Edward had said himself.

"But of course, it seems just the same, with the beautiful ladies and their lavish gowns."

The silence settled on the table again before Isabella spoke. "And how was school? I hope you found it well." It was as if physical pain ailed her. Trying to make this kind of conversation with him, when all she wanted to do was tell him how much she loved him and how long she had waited, was tearing at her chest.

It was torturous to think that after waiting all this time for him, she would have to wait further still. Wait before she could finally be in his arms, and before he could acknowledge her with loving eyes, rather than a platonic glance. The desperate longing was entirely too difficult for her to bear.

"Yes, thank you. Medicine is one of the most remarkable things I have come to learn, as I said at dinner yesterday." His eyes were extremely bright and green, but then his brows furrowed. "I am aware that sometimes, my mother–although she is proud of me–she and some other people think it is absolutely unnecessary to be acquiring a profession in the medical field. Especially considering the wealth we have. But I cannot be complete if I do not help people; and what better way to do that than to follow in my father's footsteps." Edward smiled at her, taking a sip of his coffee. "It is the same thing my father felt before he became a doctor."

Isabella's heart thawed with admiration as he showed her a part of himself that was magnanimous. Could she fall in love with him any more than she already had?

"I cannot express how much joy I felt when the Duke of Devonshire gave me my very first–"

"–surgical knife," she completed impetuously, and quickly turned her gaze to the pastry in front of her in embarrassment.

He looked at her with surprise and wondered how she could have possibly known about such information he had only shared with Rosalie.

Realizing the implication of her statement, Isabella added, "Forgive me, Rosalie informed me when you told her in one of your letters." She was shocked at how fast she was able to fabricate a reason. Once a lie was told, they just kept coming.

"Oh," was the only response Edward gave, as once again, the guilt he had felt for not writing to his friend encompassed him.

Isabella decided that from that moment on, any sort of conversation with him was inadvisable, as she had almost confessed such a trivial detail. She decided that she would quickly finish her breakfast and leave.

However, Edward had other plans.

"I know I should not worry you with this or even share this with you in the first place. It is nothing serious. However, considering that you are Rosalie's friend and also my friend, I cannot help but feel a great inclination to express my feelings with you about yesterday."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Isabella.

Edward sighed and completely disregarded the newspaper. "I found it odd that Rose did not seem too fond of our…of the song I played for her at the pianoforte yesterday. It almost felt as if she did not recognize it at first. I felt somewhat disconcerted, considering it is _our _song." Isabella trembled at the way he pronounced the last two words with conviction. "We have talked about it constantly in our letters. I just assumed that once I played it, she would express a great pleasure, or at least, some recognition to the melody."

Isabella blinked in astonishment, and then thought it was absolutely necessary for her to utter her reply with careful thought and observation.

"Well, perhaps it does not sound the same as when she plays it on the cello."

"She plays the cello?" asked Edward with a puzzled countenance. "I thought she played the violin."

Isabella swallowed hard. The more she spoke, the more trouble she dug herself into. She quickly thought of a way to rectify the situation when Rosalie and Jane came to her rescue, sauntering into the dining room.

Still reeling from the perturbation of her earlier conversation with Edward, she did not realize Rosalie had greeted her.

"What on earth is wrong with you, Bella? You look as if your breakfast might make a reappearance," Rosalie said, looking at her strangely. She was dressed in a two-piece pink dress that complimented her beauty. "Are you still unwell?"

Edward's eyes turned to Isabella and her gaze quickly dropped to the table. If she was still indisposed, he felt guilty for stressing her with his worries.

"Yes, I am feeling a bit down," she replied, which was not entirely a lie.

"Well, then, you must return to your bedroom at once! Let the maids fetch the doctor," Rosalie said, finding herself a seat beside Edward. "You need your rest. I am sure Edward will completely understand if you cannot join us this afternoon." She looked at Edward with one of her flirtatious smiles.

Wishing not to inflict more punishment on herself, should she stay in their presence, but refusing the notion of staying locked in her bedroom, Isabella said, "I think I will be properly healed once I go and visit Alice." She stood up.

"Oh, then, we shall accompany you. Or do you object, Edward?" Rose glanced at Edward, who acceded to the visit. Isabella thought it would be completely rude if she rejected their company, so she did not say anything further.

One of the maids was summoned to get their pelerines and parasols as Edward called for the landau. Isabella went upstairs to get a green hat and change her gloves to a pale colored pair that was suitable for riding.

When she returned downstairs, everyone was dressed in their appropriate apparel. Edward wore a grey frock coat and a high black hat.

Once she stepped out of the house, Isabella closed her eyes and sighed. The sound of birds chirping in the air and the pleasant scent of blossoming spring flowers assaulted her. The air was cool and the sun was up and bright against the blue sky. Spring had always been her favorite season because of the rebirth and re-growth of nature. For a moment, she felt relaxed until Edward called out her name from a distance.

"Yes?" she answered, opening her eyes and realizing that Rose and Jane had already entered the landau. "Oh." She held her parasol over her head and walked to meet them, hearing Edward's amused laughter.

"Miss Bella." A dazzling smile, that was sure to stop her heartbeat, spread across his face as he offered his hand to help her into the carriage.

Once her gloved hand settled on his naked palm, a tingling sensation shot through her arm and made her almost stiff as a rod. She jerked slightly at the startling feeling of it, the touch sending a trail of fire along her nerves, all the way to her heart, which started to beat faster.

That was the very first contact they had made since his arrival.

Whether Edward was overcome with the same heightened sensation that sizzled through her, she could not tell. For within a second, he had hoisted her up into the carriage.

The fixed high glazed door of the carriage was closed. Sitting vis-à-vis, Edward sat beside Jane while Isabella sat beside Rosalie. The sound of a whip permeated through the silence and the horses moved forward. Isabella clasped her hands tightly, still feeling slightly disoriented from Edward's touch.

An involuntary glance caused her to notice Rosalie's clad leg inching closer to Edward's. The torture of this sight was allayed when she turned her gaze to the window. The street was filled with phaetons, bicycles—all driving along the street—and pedestrians. Gentlemen were clicking their canes against the pavement, accompanied by ladies on their arms, protected from the sun by their colorful parasols, while little children were running around.

"The weather's absolutely lovely today," Rosalie commented. "I do wish you had joined us when we went for a walk. I would have very much enjoyed your company." She placed an affectionate hand on Edward's knee.

Edward raised her gloved hand from his knee and kissed it. "Then, I am sorry I could not join you. I believe I am still trying to grow accustomed to the time difference."

"Oh, it is all right." She waved it off with a smile that showed her white teeth. "I had fun with your cousin instead. She told me she plays the piano, just as well as you do I believe, and I told her I would love to hear her play it sometime."

Jane laughed nervously. "I am not really that good."

"She is very modest," Edward interjected.

"He spoils me," Jane replied.

"Do you sing, Jane?" Rose asked. "Perhaps, you could sing for us this evening while Edward plays the piano. I am very sure the _court_ could use a voice like yours during balls."

"I have never sung for a big audience before. I am not sure I could do it," Jane said, feeling diffident.

"Nonsense! I have money to wager that you sing better than Jessica Stanley who usually sounds like she is squawking," Rosalie said, recollecting the sound of Jessica's voice and grimacing. "Although, she is married now, so I should stop referring to her by her maiden name. Thank heavens! We no longer have to endure her horrible voice. And to think that James of all people would marry her is such a pity. I regarded him to have higher standards."

"Rosalie…" Isabella sighed.

"What? I only speak the truth," Rosalie said, glancing at Isabella. "And it is a bitter pill for most people to swallow."

Isabella's eyes were still staring far off, but her body was acutely aware of the man who sat adjacent to her. At a point in time, she could even feel the weight of his gaze upon her. But that only lasted for a moment, before his eyes were drawn back to Rosalie.

They had changed the discourse of Jessica's horrible singing to another topic that Isabella did not concern herself with. All she knew was that Rosalie was laughing and Edward spoke while Jane contributed to the conversation at intervals.

As they turned into a street that was beside the central market, Isabella caught the sight of Jacob standing next to a huge, bulky man. They appeared to be making some kind of trade.

"John," Isabella called the coachman. "Could you please stop the carriage?" she said, as the occupants of the carriage looked at her in surprise. John suddenly held the reins and brought the four-in-hand carriage to a complete stop. "I am very sorry for my sudden behavior, but I just saw a friend of mine and I would like to greet him. Would you please excuse me?" she asked politely. "I will not be long."

"Oh, certainly," Edward replied.

John came down from his bench seat and opened the door for her, assisting her out of the carriage.

"Who is your friend?" Rosalie asked, looking through the window for who Isabella could have possibly seen in such a rowdy place.

"Oh, no one in particular," Isabella dismissed, opening up her parasol. "I will be right back." She turned away from the landau and walked toward Jacob's direction, grateful that an opportunity to leave the carriage had presented itself.

"I believe ten horseshoes should not be that expensive," the large, broad-shouldered man with a missing tooth said, frowning. "Jacob, I do not have that kind of money to pay."

"There is always another customer but I made these specifically for you because you insisted," Jacob said, shoving his right hand into the pocket of his beige colored pants.

The stranger's eyes flickered to Isabella, and Jacob turned to see what caught his attention, when, low and behold, a recognizable, beautiful lady was standing behind him.

"Miss Bella?" he asked, slightly bewildered but delighted to see her, while the stranger bowed his head and walked away. "What a surprise! What brings you here? I was unaware that ladies took such trips to the market. Do you not have maids that do that for you?" he teased. "Perhaps I could persuade you to buy something." He smiled.

She laughed. "No, I was just on my way to visit a friend. My carriage is back there." Her head half-rotated in a gesture to the landau.

"You look like a damsel _in distress_," Jacob whispered conspiratorially, as he followed Isabella's gaze.

The door of the carriage was open, with Rosalie peering out of it. Her hat obscured half of her face, but her full pouty lips were still somewhat visible. Her left leg was posed coquettishly over the edge of the carriage. Edward stood beside the door of the carriage, next to the black horses. He was holding his hat and watching the interaction between her and Jacob cautiously.

"Oh, look, it is Edward Cullen!" gushed one girl standing beside a woman selling oranges from a stall in a distance, drawing the attention of several pairs of eager eyes. "I heard he was handsome, but I did not believe he was _that _handsome!"

"I wonder who he is betrothed to. Some say, the beautiful hoyden, Miss Hale, has caught his eye," another one said.

"Oh, I wish him success with that. That lady cannot be tamed!" an older woman who was passing by with a basket of tomatoes said, as she stopped and looked at the direction of the carriage.

"I wish he would marry me," a girl, who looked to be the age of fifteen, said with starry eyes.

"Keep on dreaming, Sarah. You are no Miss Alice!"

"You mean _Mrs._ _Whitlock_."

"Well, she was one of us and look at where she is now!"

"For God's sake, women! Move along! All you gossips with nothing better to do," barked an old man, holding a wooden stick, and the crowd of women dispersed, giggling.

"Would that be the gentleman you were crying over yesterday?" Jacob asked, his eyes moving from Edward to Isabella.

A red color painted Isabella's cheeks as she bit her lip and nodded.

"Well, then, would you permit me to escort you to your friend's place?" Jacob asked.

"Oh, would you?" Her eyes looked hopeful.

"Of course, I just have to collect my money and you can catch a ride with me on the wagon."

"I would be delighted." She smiled. "I will just go and let them know."

When Isabella got to the landau, Edward, who had been somewhat leaning against the carriage, stood up straight upon her approach.

"I have decided to spend some time with my friend," she said. "So he will drive me to Alice's house in his wagon," Isabella continued in a small voice as his green eyes stared into hers. The concentrated look he was giving her made it hard for her to speak. Unsure of what to say, Isabella's gaze dropped to the earth beneath their feet. She could not comprehend why she always felt so tense around him, as if any sudden movement would set her on fire.

"You would rather catch a ride in a wagon?" Rosalie asked in disbelief, breaking the moment passing between Isabella and Edward. "Are those things even suitable for lady passengers?"

"Yes, I believe so," Isabella answered, feeling uncertain.

"Okay, then," Rosalie said, drawing her leg back inside the carriage and sitting properly. "Let's go, Edward."

"Are you sure?" Edward asked. His eyes were on Jacob, who was unloading some of the goods he had come to sell from his wagon.

For a moment, a pleasant thought crossed Isabella's mind that perhaps he would miss her company, or perhaps he was jealous, for she was going off with another man. But then it occurred to her, that he was only acting the role of a gentleman who was uncertain about the blacksmith that was accompanying her without any supervision or chaperone.

He did not trust Jacob Black and he was worried about her safety.

Isabella answered in a louder tone that was sure to emphasize the confidence in her choice. "I am sure." With that, she turned and left Edward standing by the carriage and walked back to meet Jacob.

~o~

"Edward Cullen is the object of your affection?" Jacob asked with a surprised expression, cracking his whip as the wagon went up the bridge. "I would have never guessed."

Isabella released a despondent sigh, twisting her fingers in her lap. "He does not know of it, which makes this entirely unbearable."

"I should suppose so. And he has affection for Rosalie Hale, the one who goes around breaking people's hearts all over the place?"

"He has loved her since childhood, how can I compete?"

"And you have loved him the same; I say it is fair game."

"It is not that straightforward."

"Oh, I do not think it to be so at all. Love triangles usually constitute a mess. After all, the emotion itself is a bit complicated."

"And what would you know, oh wise one?" she teased. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Never before." Jacob shook his head. "I did think I was in love with a girl once, when I was thirteen. But I am certain that emotion was caused by puberty. There is a thin line between lust and love and most people seem to confuse the two."

"And how old are you now?" Isabella inquired, turning to look at him.

"Eighteen." He smiled proudly, as if such a number was to be considered an accomplishment.

"Dear heavens! You are young!" Isabella exclaimed in astonishment, her brown eyes expanding in wonder. She would have conjectured an age older than twenty, but as she looked at him closely, it seemed very unlikely that he was as old as she had predicted. "And yet you look so huge for an eighteen year old boy."

"I am not that young," he huffed, sitting up straight and trying to hang onto a thread of his virility. "I would like to think that such an age brands a boy as a man. Besides, I do not see how size and age correlate," he finished his argument, feigning annoyance.

"To think such a grown man could sulk astonishes me." Isabella laughed at him, knowing he did not take offence to her remarks.

"And how old are you milady? The one who presumes to have great knowledge about love." He bumped his shoulder playfully with hers, the corners of his lips lifting up with a teasing smile.

"My age is of no consequence to you, Jacob Black!" Isabella smacked his arm, trying to distract him from the smile on her face. "And I presume to possess no such thing," she finished, unable to stop from laughing mirthfully.

At that moment, she could not recall a time when she had felt so care-free, without having to think about proper manners and decorum. She derived a sense of freedom from his company, which she found herself to thoroughly take pleasure in. This was probably due to the sincerity and a certain kind of warmth his character seemed to possess. She almost felt she could make him a confidant.

They conversed all the way to the Whitlock's. On the way, Jacob disclosed the sobriquet the town folks had given him—'Black the Blacksmith'—and Isabella teased him about it, gaining satisfaction with the way he seemed to be embarrassed. He, then, gave a vague description about his job and suggested that she come visit him sometime so he could show her how to forge metals.

And, at long last, they reached the Whitlock estate.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

**The lovely TwiDi and my lover, Mrs Boyscout, pre-read this for me. And Phoenixhunter47 is an **_**amazing**_** beta, who always listens to me and answers my questions, makes great suggestions and ensures that all grammatical errors are corrected. She and Heather Dawn made pretty banners for ATW this week, which would be on my profile by the next update. They're all awesome. **

**And, so are you guys, who continue to read and share your thoughts with me. I truly appreciate them and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you.**

**Till next chapter!**


	8. Yearning

Yearning

_There is in souls a sympathy with sounds  
And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleased  
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave  
Some chord in unison with what we hear  
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies._  
~William Cowper.

~o~

The consequence of arriving unannounced at the Whitlock's house caused the guests to wait in the vestibule for a few minutes. The ladies' pelerines and Edward's coat were taken off by the housekeeper, and the butler escorted the guests to the parlor. Normally, the parlor was locked and only opened on special occasions, but given the unexpected visit, the Whitlocks decided to entertain their guests there.

The parlor consisted of three settees and four embroidered, fabric wingback chairs spread throughout the room. There were two rococo chaise lounges at the edges of the room. The walls were adorned with paintings. A large painting of Lord William Whitlock, baring a grim countenance, hung above the ornate, white French mantle, framing the large fireplace that had yet to be used. The parlor maid quickly rushed to heat up the room for the guests.

It was not long before the butler re-entered the parlor to announce the presence of his new employer, Mrs. Whitlock, whose Ladyship title had not been rendered to her thus far, for she was not deemed properly married to the son of Lord Whitlock by those in _court_. Albeit, that was only one of many reasons that her name had not yet been fully bestowed.

Alice Whitlock walked into the parlor with a demure smile and her hands clasped together. She was clad in a long turquoise satin skirt, which covered her ankles, and a silver high collared long-sleeve blouse, with flounces at the end of its puffy sleeves. Alice's hair had been styled in a side parting and clipped all the way to the back with a lot of hair pins.

Seeing a woman who had never been dressed in colors before, save for the mundane black and white clothing that maids were required to wear, Rosalie gasped. "Alice!" Her hazel eyes perused Alice's attire. "Might I say you have done very well for yourself. Living as the wife of an aristocrat has presented you with such luxuries that I almost failed to recognize you."

Gratified to see her friend in good health and in such exquisite attire that only succeeded in enhancing her beauty, Isabella remarked, "And I have to say, it suits you very well." She moved toward her oldest acquaintance and embraced her. "Oh, Alice, it is so good to see you."

"It is good to see you, too, Bella." Alice returned the hug, holding Isabella for a bit longer before releasing her. "My, look at how beautiful you are! Much has changed since I left the Swan Manor." Each of them regarded the other with a smile.

"It appears so," said Isabella, as she turned to look at Jane and Edward. "Alice, you remember Edward, do you not? Well, he has returned back from England with his cousin, Jane."

"Oh my! _The _Edward Cullen?" Alice's gloved hand covered her mouth in astonishment. Her eyes appraised him in a manner that divulged she could not believe the sight of the man before her. "The papers carried rumors of your handsomeness, but lord, you have changed!" Alice held her throat as Edward flashed her an embarrassed, yet heartbreaking smile. "Certainly not the boy I once knew that is for sure."

"I believe I am still the same, Alice. I just no longer carry the awkward stature of my childhood, that is all," Edward said with a teasing wink. Then, as if to emphasize his point—that he still assumed the role of a gentleman—he bowed forward, picked up her right hand and kissed it. Alice's cheeks gained some color and she suppressed a smile.

For a moment, she relished the manners that gentlemen were brought up to have; for she had been a maid all her life and had never had the pleasure of being treated as someone of importance. Hell, she was wearing a glove! And clothes that cost a fortune! But of course, all that came at a price.

Suddenly the happiness that glowed in her eyes dimmed a little.

"Now, now, Alice, we cannot have you gushing over a man after you have just been married," Rosalie said, moving closer to Edward and patting his arm, almost as if she was marking a kind of territory. Alice's gaze fell on where Rosalie's hand met Edward's arm. "I believe that would be some sort of sin now, would it not? And besides, what would your husband say?"

"Do not worry, Rose," Alice said, and then added, "I am very much in love with my husband." She smiled and her eyes moved to the young girl who stood by Edward's side. "And you must be Miss Jane. Rumor had it that you were pretty, but they failed to recognize that beautiful was a more appropriate word." Jane's cheeks were suffused with color.

Alice took a deep, but shaky breath, her clad fingers smoothing the invisible wrinkles on her skirt. She had hardly been wearing her apparel for long, yet, she had already started to feel uncomfortable, since every inch of her skin was covered.

When the cordial reception was over, Alice tried to start a conversation before an awkward silence could ensue. "I cannot express how extremely glad it is to see you, Edward. Bel–"

"Alice, I am sorry for the unexpected visit. How rude of me to think that you would have nothing on your schedule but to sit at home. Is Jasper in?" Isabella cut in immediately, before her friend could proceed to divulge something that would implicate her.

"Yes, I believe he is on the grounds, shooting something." Alice paused to hear sounds of gunshots but heard none. "Or at least, he was. Shall we take a turn in the garden?" She smiled at her guests. "It is quite cold in here. I will have the servants bring us tea." Her left hand rubbed the back of her ear impetuously. "And Edward, perhaps you and my husband would like to catch up on old times." She smiled at Edward, who nodded in acquiescence.

Isabella hooked her arm around the crook of Alice's arm as they walked out of the parlor. Edward, Rosalie and Jane trailed behind them, with Edward in the middle of the two ladies.

Their feet moved lightly over the path to the garden. The tail of their skirts swayed slightly with the light breeze. When Isabella had created enough distance to ensure that the rest of their entourage was not within earshot, she heaved a sigh and placed her head to rest against Alice's shoulder.

"Oh, Alice, I cannot tell you how incredibly exhausting it has been being in their presence. I almost feel as if I am two women in the same body," Isabella finally said. "The one who has to pretend that she does not feel an ounce of jealousy or any excruciating pain when she sees him kiss her hand, and the other, who dies each time he does."

"I cannot believe you have not told him! What the devil are you thinking?" asked Alice, in a rather soft but concerned tone. "What even surprises me more is the fact that Rosalie consented to such an arrangement."

"And what would you have me do?" Isabella raised her head from Alice's shoulder and looked at her with saddened eyes. "I cannot look at him and tell him that the woman he has been pining for all these years is _not _the woman he has fantasized about. He dreams about her, Alice, he always has. To come to such a realization would crush him. Not once has he expressed such heightened fondness for me. I even doubt that he sees me at all." She turned her head away from her friend, looking at the manicured grass that was beautified with colorful flowerbeds.

"So, does it not crush you to see that his affection is displayed somewhere else? Precisely, to the wrong person and one who does not deserve it in the first place. Does it not kill you to see him with her? Especially a woman like Rosalie who is an incorrigible flirt and one who would do anything to be the center of attention?" Alice asked. "If such a woman were with Jasper, I would kill her."

"But she is not in love with him." Isabella argued. "Rosalie has never been in love with anyone but herself." Alice was aware that Isabella meant no harm by that statement, for she had been in Rosalie's presence on a number of occasions where Rosalie had confessed it herself.

However, Alice countered, "That does not mean she is incapable of love. She may seem like one who doubts its existence but that is only because she has never gotten love from anywhere else. Her mother, who was supposed to care for her, left her at a young age. Her father has neglected her for so long; it is a miracle that he sometimes regards her as his daughter at all. There has been no one to show Rosalie any type of love, other than you, and that is not enough. You have to tell him before it is too late and all three of you are left utterly distraught!"

"I will," said Isabella. She was not prepared to face any sort of rejection from Edward, so she added, "in due time. He has only just arrived. I should at least let him settle down before bearing such news."

"I worry for you." Alice rubbed Isabella's left hand in a compassionate gesture.

"And I worry for you. With Jasper going away, how will you fare?" Isabella turned to look at her.

Alice looked straight ahead, her eyes were forlorn. "I think of it every night. He has absolutely spoiled me with his presence. And it is completely hard to be separated from him for long periods of time. Even when he goes to visit his father," she looked at Isabella, "I long for him," she said in a whisper, lowering her eyelids. "His father does not even acknowledge me, and that is all right, as long as I have Jasper. But once he is gone…" she trailed off with a sigh, as they got to the first circle of chairs in the garden.

"I have not left the house since we moved in." Alice pulled out a chair for Isabella before she sat down. "I am afraid of both social classes. The lower class people, though some are happy, others are jealous. While the upper class people seem to think that I have married him for his money. They do not even regard me as his wife but as his mistress!" Her laughter was devoid of humor.

"I consider there to be very little difference between being a lady's maid and being a lady. As a lady's maid, I never really fitted in with the rest of the servants, for they thought I gossiped with you and Lady Swan about their activities. And being loyal to Lady Swan did not make me better than the others either, for I was still a maid. I was still always put in my place. No matter the situation I find myself in, I never really seem to fit anywhere, except with Jasper."

"I am here for you, Alice." Isabella reached out and held Alice's hands with a sad smile. "You are not the only scandalous woman in Forks, you know. I have jilted about four lords and mama always holds it against me," Isabella finished, with an exaggerated wave of her hand in an effort to make her friend feel better.

"I believe mine is the biggest scandal of the season." Alice laughed.

"Mother believes that a woman has no right in refusing a lord's marriage proposal. In fact, she considers it to be completely unethical."

"I believe she found a new maid for you. How is Mary doing? Does she know what lotions you use? And how you like your hair styled?" Alice's eyes flitted to Isabella's hair. "Although, she seems to be doing good work, from what I can see. I suppose she is also good with her reading and writing skills."

"Mama had to opt for the best. Once she realized she had lost you, she went seeking for someone who she thought was better. Of course, she could never replace you. I still miss you but I would say you are much better here."

"We both know my time was due anyway. I was going to be fired after a year. Lady Swan was only being lenient with me. Most maids do not even get to that age while being a lady's maid. And, lord knows, I was not about to fight Patricia for that housekeeping position." She and Isabella laughed, just as Alice's other guests joined them.

Alice watched Edward pull out a chair for Rosalie before he pulled out one for himself and Jane. When everyone was seated, the butler arrived with a tray of tea cups, a porcelain pitcher and a deck of playing cards.

Silently, the butler began to pour tea into the tea cups as Alice stood up.

"It is all right, Arnold," she said, taking the pitcher from him. "I can handle it from here. Could you please inform Jasper of our guests?" She smiled at him and he nodded. "Thank you." And then, he was on his way.

As Alice poured tea into each tea cup for her guests, the occupants of the table fell into a polite conversation.

Feeling uncomfortable and failing to ignore the awkwardness of watching his host pouring tea when he could easily assist her, Edward stood up. "Alice, please allow me," he offered.

"Oh, Edward." Alice smiled at him, waving him off dismissively, as she reached to pour tea for Rosalie. "Do not worry yourself." She laughed nervously. "You are my guest, please, do sit down."

Alice finished pouring the tea and tried to engage in the conversation going on at the table. Rosalie was conversing about the upcoming ball for the arrival of the Cullens that was in a few days time, when Alice spotted her husband walking toward them from the weapon shed.

Alice's gaze was fixed on him as he walked straight toward them with an elegant stride. Her right elbow was positioned to the table and she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Alice's mind deviated from the discourse, as all her thoughts on the subject were stolen by the sight of Jasper. One hand was tucked in the pocket of his beige colored trousers while the other swung slightly by his side. His gait, she thought, suggested that he was a man who was in control of things. Jasper carried an air about him that made it seem like he would make a fine solder.

Jasper's black waistcoat emphasized his lean masculine build and the sun seemed to amplify his handsomeness. Looking at him like this, even from a distance, made Alice appreciate his love for her. For he was hers and no one else's. When ladies looked at him, they would know his heart was hers. The thought made a subtle smile grow on her face.

As he approached them, Jasper caught her gaze and his face cracked a smile. His features held an amused countenance at the animated gaze from his wife. In that moment, while their guests chattered on, completely oblivious to the two lovers, it was as if a secret was shared between them. Their gazes never wavered from each other and their smiles never faded. Jasper's eyes were completely radiant and Alice's were a reflection of his.

Alice felt the light weight of Jasper's palm on her back when he got to their table. "Good morning, ladies," he greeted, bending to grace his wife's cheek with a kiss. "Forgive me for my tardiness. I was unaware that we had guests." He turned to shake Edward's hand. "Edward, I heard you had returned. I trust your journey went well."

"Very well, thank you," returned Edward.

"Perhaps, you would like to join me in a game of shooting?" Jasper asked.

Alice's expression resembled a grimace. "Dear husband, how long do you intend on doing this?"

"Not long, my dearest wife." He smiled brightly. "I am just trying to improve my aim."

Alice turned her attention to the ladies at the table and said in her best conversational tone, "Do you know that out of all the houses on the estate his father owns, this was the one he chose, for its shooting facilities alone." She took a sip of her tea. "Unbelievable."

"I am going to be a soldier, my dearest. You know I have to practice," he said softly, and Alice turned away from him with an unhappy expression clouding her face.

She almost wanted to ask, "And whose fault was that?" but refrained and thought better of it. It would be considered inappropriate to discuss such matters in front of their guests.

Knowing he had upset his wife, but not having the opportunity to apologize, for the very same reasons, Jasper diverted his attention to Edward. "Edward, shall we? I suggest that we leave the ladies to their tea party," he said as Edward stood up. "I hope you engaged in some form of shooting in England or will I have to teach you?" Jasper patted his back as both men walked away from the table.

"Whitlock, I consider myself to have better aim than you do. King Edward, the seventh, held many shooting parties." The volume of their voices decreased as they retreated.

"Men!" said Rosalie. "They always get to have all the fun, while we sit here and drink tea."

"Do you not like tea, Rosalie?" Alice picked up the cards and shuffled them. "I cannot imagine why a lady would be interested in such an activity."

"And why not? It is a good sport. It teaches you to defend yourself, should the situation arise"

"I fail to see what kind of situation would require such skill from a lady, but perhaps, I could interest you in a game of three-card Monte?"

"Certainly." The corners of Rosalie's lips turned up.

~o~

The weapon shed was clean, save for the little patches of hay that littered some parts of the floor. Most of the guns were hung against a brown cloth that was nailed to the wall. There were about three shotguns and other bow and arrow equipment. Some machine rifles and revolvers were stacked on a shelf by the corner. On the lower shelf were shotgun shells and gun powder. Two pigeon traps were located at the east end of the shed.

Edward walked over to where the shotguns were kept, looking at the models and admiring them.

"You know, I never really fancied shooting," said Jasper, his hands were shoved in his pockets as he moved to join Edward. "I am not one who believes that a dispute should be settled with violence. But my father has requested—ordered, really—that I go to war." He turned to Edward. "I suppose you heard."

"Yes," replied Edward. The papers had stated that Jasper was to report to the army to support his fellow countrymen in the war between the Philippines and the Americans. They had called him a hero, and Edward was sure that Jasper's father was responsible for the vague cover story of his decision. He also wondered if Lord Whitlock was also responsible for the weapons in the shed.

"Alice has never stepped foot in here. This is a part of the house that she refuses to acknowledge, not that I want her to," continued Jasper, picking up one of the shotguns and holding it by the wooden stock in a firm grip. "But should there be an instance where it will prove useful, I will not be there to protect her."

"I am sure she does not take the notion of you enlisting in the army considerably well." Edward cast a glance at Jasper, before his gaze returned back to the shoguns.

The two men stood side by side and looked at the weapons before them, almost as if they were some sort of decoration.

"No, she does not," Jasper replied, recalling his wife's expression when he mentioned that he had to practice. "But there is not much I can do about that now. Besides, I need to prove myself worthy of her and this is the way I can see to that," he said.

Jasper handed the shotgun that he was holding to Edward and both of them left the shed. The Whitlock house stood behind them and acres of land covered in green grass surrounded them. They arrived at a spot where one of the guards stood. Beside him was a wooden stool, a carton of glass balls and a cross-piece rotating trap.

"Frank," Jasper called to the guard, and Frank handed him the shotgun he was holding. "All right, Edward, show me the best you have got," Jasper said to him, as Edward put some distance between himself and the rotating trap, holding his gun and aiming it to the sky, ready to shoot.

Frank loaded the trap with a few glass balls and waited for Jasper's order.

"Ready?" Jasper asked and Edward nodded. "Pull!" he yelled, and soon the ball shot out from the contraption into the air. Edward lifted his gun, taking aim, and pulled the trigger at the trajectory of ball. In a second, the ball exploded to pieces and its fragments scattered along the bed of grass.

"Nice shot!" Jasper exclaimed in shock and turned to Edward. "Not bad, not bad at all."

Edward grinned. "Thank you," he replied, his shoulders felt a slight pain from the unexpected kickback of the shotgun.

"So," Jasper said, taking Edward's position, while Edward went to stand closer to the trap with Frank. "I heard you have your eyes on Rosalie Hale, how did you ever manage that?"

"Ready?" Frank asked and Jasper winked, his gun already aimed at the sky, anticipating the sight of the ball.

"Pull!" Jasper shouted and another explosion blasted through the air. "I do not mean to offend, Rosalie is probably a good woman," he added, for Edward's benefit, hoping his friend did not think he was insulting his choice. "But she does not seem like quite the romantic."

Edward resumed his shooting position. "I understand that she may seem a bit…cold," he said, recollecting Rosalie's behavior in the carriage. "And perhaps a bit difficult, but under that façade is a very loving, compassionate woman. She does not express that part for everyone to see." His mind traveled back to the letters she had exchanged with him when he was in England.

He fired at the ball, but missed the shot. "Again," Edward called as Frank pulled the contraption and the ball was released.

"If I knew any better, I would say," Jasper said, loading his shotgun, "that you were describing Isabella."

At the name Jasper called, Edward missed his shot again, watching the ball drop onto the grass at a distance.

"Isabella Swan?" Edward turned to look at Jasper, completely confused. "Why would I be talking about Isabella Swan?"

"Well, she seems to fit the description you have just given me," continued Jasper. "_Loving_ and_ compassionate_ are not words I would associate with Rosalie Hale. If I were to describe her, I would say, ambitious, selfish and a little cold."

"You do not know her like I do," said Edward, aiming his gun at the sky for his third shot, as the rotating trap fired the ball. He pulled the trigger and this time an explosion tore through the air that resulted in the pieces of the ball raining along the grass. "Of course, Isabella is all that, too," Edward went on. He recalled this morning at breakfast when they were engaged in a conversation. "But she can be a bit temperate."

"Isabella?" asked Jasper, bewildered, and wondering if they were talking about two utterly different women. He had never known Isabella to possess such characteristics. Even during the time of their betrothal, she had taken the news of his affection so gracefully, as if she understood. "Shocking," was all he was able to respond.

"I suppose it is," said Edward.

"Well, then, perhaps we should give a salute for the women who have captured our hearts," Jasper said, and Frank loaded two balls into the trap to be shot in tandem.

"For Alice." Jasper pulled the trigger.

"For Rosalie," said Edward, pulling his trigger, and both balls blasted to smithereens.

~o~

It was late, well past midnight, but Isabella had found it extremely difficult to surrender to sleep's wishes. Her brown eyes were wide awake and filled with ennui, as she conjured up the tracings of nonsensical patterns on the high ceilings of her bedroom.

Being awake at such a late hour created a sense of solitude and made her bedroom seem like a sort of prison. This feeling was magnified by the thought that Edward was somewhere in the manor, sleeping peacefully in his bedroom.

Slightly exasperated by the thought, Isabella decided to take a walk around the manor until her eyes could obey the exhaustion she felt. She tossed the blankets aside and wore her sleeping robe before sauntering along the dark hallways of the Swan manor.

Isabella quietly passed the sleeping quarters and descended the stairs toward the lower wing of the house. The servants had all retired to bed, so the halls were empty, and only slightly illuminated by the light of a few candles. Carrying the most light were the slanted rays of moonlight as they sliced through the curtains covering the French windows.

As Isabella passed the drawing room, she could hear the soft strains of a piano behind the closed oak doors. She halted and her doting heart accelerated to a rhythm that only occurred whenever Edward was nearby.

Isabella opened the door and her feet gravitated to the sound before her eyes captured his figure sitting on the piano bench. There he was, clad in nothing but a long white dress shirt and a pair of brown trousers, sitting in front of the grand piano. Edward was not yet aware of her presence and so he continued to play.

She stood behind him and watched him silently play the notes to Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. With his back toward her, Isabella could not see what expression graced his face but his passion was portrayed in the movement of his shoulders to the progression of the music.

Soft and sweet, the haunting melody whispered its affection to her soul, and Isabella reveled in it, closing her eyes. The music flowed through her veins. Her blood sang and her heart danced while her eyes glistened with tears. Each note constructed a delightful sensation within her. Isabella had never heard anything quite as heavenly as Edward playing the piano. When he had played the piece for Rosalie, she had thought the very same thing but her mind had been too consumed with the notion of Edward playing it for her friend rather than for her. Isabella's jealousy had not granted her the pleasure of truly savoring the piece as he played it.

Once Edward had stopped playing, Isabella's eyes flew open—as if she had been awakened from a wonderful dream—and met Edward's intense, green gaze. She seemed paralyzed for a moment before she regained some composure.

"Forgive me," she said, smiling ruefully. "It was not my intention to frighten you…" Crimson colored her cheeks. "I heard you playing and…" Isabella shifted uncomfortably as various thoughts fought for articulation to explain her intrusion. "I could not sleep," she finally uttered.

"Nor could I," he replied. "Perhaps I can entertain you," Edward suggested with a smile. She approached him slowly, still reeling at the surprise of being caught in his presence.

Isabella stood in front of the pianoforte, and from that angle, she could see that he was not properly dressed. A few buttons of his white dress shirt were open, displaying a sliver of skin that paled in color due to the moonlight cascading through the window beside him.

Edward sat up in a straighter posture and began to play Chopin's _Nocturne in C-sharp minor_. Soft tones dallied in the atmosphere between them at the opening chords, as if telling a story. Isabella detected a fluid strength in the movement of his body to the music. His fingers glided across the piano and the music caressed the air, enfolding them in a sensual cloak.

Edward's gaze captured hers, but he did not stop playing. The connection that passed between the two of them seemed so intimate and fragile. Drawn to the depth of Edward's green eyes, Isabella leaned closer to the piano. The music—so evocative—curled around her spine and raked goosebumps across her skin.

And as the piece finished, Edward let his gaze fall back to the keys and ended with a soft note. A lone teardrop escaped Isabella's eye and she brushed it away, turning away from Edward.

"Oh, Edward, you play so beautifully," Isabella said, walking toward a white rococo chaise lounge that was situated across the room. "You have such talent," she added, lying across the upholstered couch and looking at him. "If you did not spend your days saving lives, I would insist you pursue a career in music." A soft, genuine smile graced her lips.

Edward's fingers danced across the keys, producing a cacophony of sounds. He turned to glance at her and express his gratitude but Edward's words were forgotten once his eyes shot to her silhouette on the chaise. In the faint moonlight, Edward could see Isabella's long, white chemise underneath her robe. With her brown curls surrounding her face, the sight of her was reminiscent of some of the paintings he had seen in London. She glowed.

For the very first time, Edward thought Isabella looked beautiful. His affection for Rosalie had hardly permitted him to observe her beauty. But now, he could admit that she had the most expressive eyes he had ever seen, considering that he had been unable to strip his gaze away from hers while he played the nocturne. Isabella's beauty—unlike Rosalie's—was not completely obvious and perhaps that was why he had never acknowledged it before. Her features reminded him of a wildflower—one had to really look to capture its beauty and sweet fragrance. Isabella, Edward thought, possessed an ethereal beauty.

Isabella's countenance held so much passion that staring at her made Edward feel…_alive_. Only music and medicine had proven to hold such endearing attributes for him.

When Edward had detected her presence earlier, the expression on her face was what he had expected to see from Rosalie when he played Beethoven's Sonata. It was as if Isabella could fathom the emotion he had tried to express with the music.

"Please." Isabella's whisper floated across the room. "Do not stop playing."

Realizing that his fingers had indeed paused on the keyboard, Edward reverted back to the piano and played a different nocturne by Chopin in C-minor.

"I find music to be a great way of expressing what one cannot articulate." He paused, and then began to play again. "Most of the time, the gravity of my affections are most ardently conveyed with music."

Isabella had wanted to tell him that he was equally passionate and eloquent in his letters. However, she watched his long fingers depress the black and white keys, as if they were created specifically for that purpose—to play music and feed her soul with their delicate melody.

"My emotions are expressed through a variety of forms," she said, playing with the hem of her night robe. "Drawing, reading, writing. These are all ways in which they seek refuge. Poetry is an art I also take great pleasure in. I find it rather…captivating."

"You are quite the romanticist," said Edward. His eyes were still planted on the piano keys.

"Are you not?" asked Isabella, though she all ready had knowledge of his answer. For it was Edward's love that had brought him here, back to Forks, and Isabella had hoped that his heart would whisper to whom it belonged to.

"Rationalism restricts one's minds from possibilities," she continued, her fingers tip-toeing on the arm of the chair. "It provides the prospect of marrying without affection, which is a notion I consider to be absolutely dreadful. And though a suitor might express the same undying affection that I require for such a commitment, I cannot fully devote my life to him when I do not feel a degree of love for him."

"Perhaps, you have not found the person worthy of your love yet," said Edward.

"He may not be completely worthy, but I have found someone who…" she trailed off, looking away from him. "A man who is very noble and has won me completely."

"You have?" asked Edward in bewilderment, his fingers faltering on the keys as his gaze found Isabella's.

"Yes…very much so, that I fear," replied Isabella, "he has robbed me of my heart." Her voice—barely a whisper—echoed the longing present in her heart. "So much so, that no other gentleman will be able to accommodate such space no matter how highly valued his emotions are."

Edward's gaze descended to the piano and his mind began to speculate on who had made such an impression on Isabella that she seemed to have given her soul to him. He could not think of anyone else, save for the blacksmith—Jacob Black.

Given on the many occasions that he had witnessed their relationship since his arrival, Edward had suspected that this noble man was Jacob Black. He had every reason to believe so, for why would a lady spend such an awful amount of time in a blacksmith's company when she was not requesting any of his services? Perhaps, it was Isabella's feelings for him that had caused her to refuse the men who had asked for her hand in marriage.

Edward did not think Jacob to be worthy of her affections. There was something not quite right about him, he thought, and it had nothing to do with Jacob's status in the society. Isabella was delicate, and so she deserved to be treated with care and tenderness. He felt unease at the fact that she had completely surrendered her heart to a person he did not consider trustworthy.

"But of course, he does not know of it," Isabella said, cutting through his thoughts.

"He does not?" he asked.

"I lack the courage to tell him," she replied sadly.

The devil! Not only had Jacob charmed Isabella so as to cause her to fall in love with him, the idiot did not even know of it! How could he spend time in her lovely presence and not realize that there was a beautiful woman in love with him? Rage burned its way through Edward's chest and he fought the urge to express the feeling by squeezing his fists into a tight ball. He released his fingers and took a deep breath before continuing the musical piece.

Suddenly, he felt very protective of the lady lying on the chaise lounge. All her features proved to be even more delicate under the single beam of the moonlight that edged its way closer to her.

Edward knew Isabella needed him to be a friend, as she had always been with him. So he said, "I suppose that can be a frightening thing. But if he does not recognize how…"—at this point, he swallowed—"extremely beautiful you are, then he is a fool."

Isabella wanted to comment on the similarity Edward's words held with Jacob's, but her mind did not allow her, for it busied itself with the two words he had just used to describe her. _Extremely beautiful_. And he had used such words to describe her, not Rosalie.

Isabella felt she could die happily. Her grave, she thought, would have the inscription: Killed by the words 'Extremely Beautiful' for they were spoken by Edward Cullen and nothing had melted her heart until now.

Abruptly, Edward stopped playing and stood up. He ran his hands through his hair, as Isabella wondered what could have possibly altered in that moment to cause a change in his demeanor.

Was it possible that she had not been as cautious as she had intended? Had she said too much? Could it be that Edward was beginning to suspect the true identity of the Rosalie within their shared letters? Isabella hardly dared allow herself to hope.

"I am very sorry for keeping you this long," he said and she, too, stood up—fingers intertwining with each other, nervously. The familiar tension that made their interactions somewhat stilted returned. "It is quite late and I fear that if we do not return to our beds, we may not be awake in the morning."

Edward's hands rubbed the back of his neck as Isabella walked toward him in careful steps—in fear that he might slip away from her like silk escaping through her fingers.

"It was I who made you play at this late hour. Were it not for me, you would have gone to—" she started, her heart thundering in her chest. The distance between them was not more than two footsteps and her body had begun to tremble at his proximity.

"Nonsense! It was I who woke you up with my—"

"I enjoyed it," she said, not permitting him to speak further, lest he berate himself for such a trivial issue that brought her pleasure. "I enjoyed listening to you…very much."

Edward stared into her eyes and his tongue uttered the words: "I enjoyed playing for you." And they were true, for he had never played for such a person who depicted strong emotions in response to a piece. Not his mother. Not his father. And not even Rosalie.

Isabella turned shyly, leaving him in the drawing room and returning to her bedroom, while Edward stood there for a moment, wondering why an alien feeling had slipped into his heart when she had smiled at him before she left.

* * *

_The usual disclaimer still holds. None of this belongs to me. _

_A great deal of thanks goes to Mrs. Boyscout, TwiDi and my very awesome beta, Phoenixhunter47 for their edits and suggestions. And thank you readers for your patience and for reading and reviewing._

_The beautiful banners that Heather Dawn and Phoenixhunter47 made for me are now up on my profile. _


	9. The Delicate Dance

_A/N_: For Pree.

_Disclaimer: _Yeah, I still don't own this.

_Quick recap of last chapter: _Isabella visited Alice, with Rosalie, Edward and Jane (Edward's cousin). Jasper was preparing to go for war in the Philippines. And Edward played the _Moonlight Sonata _for Isabella.

* * *

The Delicate Dance

_Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire _– George Bernard Shaw

~o~

Isabella stood in front of the French windows in the Swan drawing room, glancing at a young couple—a gentleman and a beautiful lady with blond hair that glimmered brightly under the sun—through the parted curtains. Her eyes watched the gentleman's fingers flit through his hair in a quick gesture that exhibited his anxiety toward addressing the lady he followed. The young lady sauntered through the garden, swinging her red parasol, seemingly oblivious to the anxious man behind her.

"Oh, he has been in love with her for years, Renée. At first, I thought it was nothing but an infatuation. However, that proved not to be the case," said Esme Cullen to Isabella's mother. "Edward could never start his day without a word from her, especially on the day he knew the post would arrive."

Esme and Renée sat behind Isabella, farther into the room. They had been conversing about some matters that had happened in each other's absences. Currently, their conversation was about Edward and the letters he had received from Rosalie when he was in England.

"If Scarlet were here to see this, I am sure that even she would consider their match to be very agreeable," replied Renée.

Isabella had thought her mother's opinion to be absolutely wrong, for she had never seen such an uncongenial couple before. Surely, they might have been agreeable in their handsomeness; if love had been all about beauty, they would have been suitably matched. But it was not.

"We were afraid,"—the volume of Renée's voice reduced slightly—"that Rosalie, especially without the correct guidance, would take after her mother. She is—in so many ways—so much like Scarlet; her beauty, her countenance, her behavior. Poor Richard did not know what to do with her when her mother left."

"It must have been difficult for him," said Esme. "She bears a striking resemblance to Scarlet. He must have been constantly reminded of the woman who broke his heart—by running to Europe with that poet—every time he looked at Rosalie. We had always known Scarlet to have a bit of Bohemian blood in her, and though Richard loved her dearly, it was not enough to make her stay."

"No, how could it? Scarlet never married for love and she resented a life that expected her to follow rules. She had always loathed being told what to do, and she often considered the prospect of being a lady as some sort of confinement. She could have done so very well for herself."

"At least, I suppose she is happy wherever she is. She followed her heart and that is what matters," said Esme. She had always been fond of romances, mainly because she, herself, had been fortunate enough to marry for love. It had been one of those very rare cases at the time. Esme claimed that she had very much fallen for her husband's charm before he ever gathered the courage to propose. And no one had objected, for wealth and prospects were on Carlisle's side during their engagement.

Her friend, on the other hand, had married without love and had grown to love her husband, Charlie. Renée was a firm believer that marriage could progress to love, especially if it was the right union. And such a union was created by family decisions. For only a family could find a suitable match for their child.

Renée's eyes flashed. "Yes, and look what it cost her: her child! She had no money, Esme. For heaven's sake, he was a poet! And not a very good one if I recall correctly. Richard had the income to sustain a family. He had the assets and he loved her, such a rare combination and she callously and selfishly threw them away." She paused. "It had surprised me when she left her child, but when one thinks about it, Rosalie was probably better off with Richard. It is a miracle to know that she is in love with your son. With Rose's wild behavior, one would have never guessed that she was keeping her heart for Edward." Renée placed her tea cup on her saucer.

"Yes, I, too, was unaware that she returned his affections, save for when the letters had arrived," said Esme, "I still remember the way his eyes lit up when he ran to my room, claiming that Rosalie had finally responded to his letters. Bless that boy! I am surprised it took him this long to propose. It was the very first thing he had insisted on doing when he arrived here."

Isabella's despairing gaze was still fixed on the couple outside the window. No one heard her heart shatter to a million pieces, though she was sure the noise was deafening. She had thought, a few days ago, when Edward had played the piano for her in this very room, close to this very window, that he had recognized her. That he had known that it was him she was talking about that very night.

And yet he had not, for he had kept a distance between them since that night. Not once had he spoken to her. Even when she had tried to catch his eyes, he had been swift to either leave the room or engage himself in a discourse with Madam Willborough, who usually had very little about which to converse. Isabella had questioned what she had done to deserve this cruel indifference on his part.

However, there were more important matters that tugged on her heartstrings. Isabella knew she could not withstand the notion of Edward marrying Rosalie. With that thought, she excused herself from the parlor abruptly and rushed to meet the couple in the garden.

~o~

Rosalie Hale opened her parasol to protect herself from the rays of the sun as she walked through the garden.

They had all been sitting in the parlor, drinking tea while Jane entertained them with a few piano pieces. Isabella had been awfully quiet, distancing herself from the rest of the occupants in the room, sketching what Rosalie had thought to be another statue sitting on the mantel. Not that she possessed a modicum of interest in whatever Isabella drew in that book of hers.

Edward had been in the very same condition as well, save for the fact that he, instead, had watched his cousin play the piano with an intense admiration. He had surreptitiously glanced in Isabella's direction during intervals, but his gaze had quickly reverted back to Jane, though his attention failed to recover completely.

Conversely, Rosalie had been completely oblivious to the tension that stretched between the two. She had been engaged in a discourse between Lady Swan and Lady Cullen, though her mind often wandered to thoughts of Mark and Royce's return from New York. So she had been completely caught off guard when she found Edward standing in front of her, immediately—and almost abruptly—requesting her company for a walk outside.

She had agreed, and they found themselves walking in utter silence.

"Rosalie," Edward said behind her, and she turned to look at him. "If I am not permitted with the chance to do this now, I fear that I may never gather the courage to do it again. And it is of great importance that I seek your permission to liberate my feelings, for it is indeed quite suffocating.

"When we were children, I must admit that my admiration for you was merely based on your beauty alone. For how could one not see those," —Rosalie watched him swallow and close his eyes before he proceeded— "beautiful eyes and not be bewitched by their beauty? However, since we exchanged letters during these past years, I have never felt closer to anyone than I have to you." Edward took her gloved hand carefully, and the pad of his thumb ran over the back of her hand tenderly in circles. "I have kept you in my heart for the longest time, Rosalie, and I can wait no longer.

"Never have I felt such a burning, intense passion for anything in my life—including medicine—as I have felt for you. I beg of you to release me from my agony and marry me. I need _you_ more than anything else."

Rosalie's hazel eyes flickered to his thumb as it rested on top of her hand. Then, her gaze moved to the window of the Swan Manor, where she was certain Isabella was standing at that very moment. The weight of Edward's words and the gravity of the feelings he had expressed left her confused and curious as to what exactly Isabella had written to Edward under her name.

She looked at the gentleman before her, who was proclaiming his love to her. Edward's green eyes held a fierceness that she could not describe with words. His hand felt firm on her gloved, feminine one. He was tall, lean and he possessed very handsome features that had women wishing he was offering for them. He was also the first person whom she had considered to seem noble and honest in his declarations of love, for Edward had confessed that he had fallen for her beauty at first. However, a feeling of disappointment dampened her thoughts, for he had also claimed to have fallen more for her letters.

The letters which she did not write. The letters Isabella had written to him.

But Edward could provide an escape from her father—from her prison. He had wealth that she was sure could sustain her for the rest of her life. And, if indeed he possessed such strong feelings for her, he would ensure that she was properly taken care of for the rest of her life when she became his wife.

Rosalie's thoughts traveled to Isabella. Isabella had never claimed to have any sort of feelings for Edward, so she certainly would not object to their betrothal. After all, she had been the one to instigate this situation. But what if Isabella carried great affection for Edward?

Love was a disease, a mental illness that forced people to do unspeakable things. It was an emotion that destroyed relationships. Perhaps Isabella would consider it a favor if she was able to realize, without disappointment or embarrassment, that Edward did not care for her any longer. And, if he did _indeed_ care for Isabella, he should have been able to recognize who wrote the letters.

For all they knew, Rosalie was saving them from a devastating occurrence.

Rosalie smiled beguilingly at the gentleman that stood before her, looking at her with hopeful eyes. "Edward," said she, in a tone that was considered flirtatious and sweet. "I am so very honored that you have asked me to spend the rest of my life with you. I have waited as long as you have, you see. I fear that if I waited any longer, I would have become indisposed. My heart can only bear so much. However, I hope you can wait for my answer at the ball tonight." Her gloved hand moved to his face and caressed his cheek, the same way his thumb had stroked her hand affectionately.

Rosalie's thumb grazed slightly over Edward's lip, and she smiled devilishly when his mouth opened slightly. "Perhaps if you are able to find me first at the masked ball tonight, then we shall know that fate led you to me."

Edward took her hand gently from his face and planted a kiss on it. "Very well, my love."

"Rosalie!" Isabella's voice tore through the intimate moment that passed between the couple.

Both of them turned toward the house to find Isabella holding up her skirts as she ran to them.

"Dearest friend," Rosalie said sweetly when Isabella had reached them. "Why on earth are you running as if you are in danger? Is anything the matter?" She removed her hand from Edward's affectionate grasp and brushed a damp piece of wayward hair hanging over Isabella's forehead.

Isabella, who had left the manor abruptly on impulse, had failed to come up with an excuse as to why she was calling her friend's name.

"A lady does not run, Isabella, unless she is in danger of her life being taken away from her," continued Rosalie.

"Forgive me," Isabella said, panting and mortified at the fact that Edward had captured sight of her in an unladylike moment. There was no way she could ever convince him now that she was more beautiful than Rosalie.

With that thought, her gaze traveled to him in search of any trace that he had proposed to Rosalie. Edward's eyes fixed on hers intensely for a moment—but the moment was swift and left quickly before she could even get lost in it.

"You must excuse me, ladies. I have an engagement that I ought to get to," said Edward, and then he was gone, walking away from them and back to the manor.

Isabella watched Edward leave with a great sadness. His avoidance almost brought tears to her eyes. She looked at his retreating figure with a sense that she had just lost a part of herself—as if he had physically cut off one of her limbs and carried it away with him.

"Isabella, is there something you would like me to do for you?" Rosalie asked her, regaining her friend's attention.

"I—" Isabella's voice faltered. "My mother would like to speak to you regarding the masked ball this evening." The lie escaped her lips.

"And she could not send a maid?" asked Rosalie, with a small shake of her head. "Come then, we must return to the drawing room."

~o~

Isabella held the ruffles of her blue satin brocade gown as she made her way along the curved staircase that led to the ballroom. Rows of lace, pleats and ruffles curled behind her and followed her through the large oak doors. On her face was a Venetian Mask—simple but elegant—that outlined her brown eyes with gold jewels.

Isabella's gaze flickered around the room. Laughter, voices engaged in light conversations and classical music intertwined together, filling the atmosphere. Ladies in dresses with jewel tone colors of satin swayed with gentlemen in black waistcoats and trousers. Every face was hidden with a mask.

"Rosalie?" A soft, velvet tone called out.

And though she did not need assurance to know that it was Edward, Isabella's eyes still sought him out in the parted crowd. He was dressed in an impeccable black suit, just as every other gentleman present in the ballroom, but his body and his voice defined his distinction.

Isabella unabashedly entertained the thought of acquiring her best friend's identity for a moment. After all, she was certain that Edward would be unable to tell the difference, considering the fact that her face was hidden behind a mask. However, her hair was not. The brunette strands wavered slightly with each movement of her head behind the aigrettes that swooped from the top center of the mask. A great disappointment compared to the blond hair of her best friend.

Edward had not said a word to her in days and if all it took was for him to address her as Rosalie, she would consider it. All these years, she had hidden behind that name and loved him, what more could one night of pretense do?

Isabella had almost forgotten the direction of her thoughts when Edward took off his mask.

"The blue is absolutely stunning," he added, his eyes roaming over her figure. "And it is, as of now, my favorite color." He smiled, picking up her right hand and placing a kiss at the back of it.

Her heartbeat stuttered. She could no longer go with the affectation, for she feared that she would question what he would have said had he been aware that it was her and not Rosalie. Would blue still be his favorite color? Would his countenance still hold that great affection as it did now? The torment was too much to bear.

So, she quickly rushed to reveal her identity before he could proceed with more declarations. "I'm afraid it is Isabella. I have no idea of Rosalie's whereabouts at the moment," she said earnestly.

"Oh, please do forgive me, then." He bowed in front of her. "It's easy to be mistaken amongst this sea of masks."

Her gaze traveled around the brightly lit room, avoiding the disappointment that she was certain shadowed his countenance at the moment.

"Will you please oblige me with a dance?" Edward asked. "I fear I am without a partner and it will be a great pleasure to have this next dance with you."

His request returned her gaze back to him and his smile momentarily dazzled her into an accord.

"Of course." She swallowed, taking his proffered arm and following him to the center of the ballroom.

~o~

Edward bowed in front of the lady before him and watched her sink into a low curtsy. He opened his left hand and Isabella's soft, gloved hand slipped into it, like honey melting in tea, while her arm settled on his shoulder. They both began to waltz slowly, gliding across the parquet floors under the crystal chandeliers amidst other dancing couples.

Isabella tried with great effort not to concentrate on the gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder. To quell her anxiety, she decided to engage Edward in a conversation.

"It is a very lovely evening." A sincere smile brightened her countenance.

"Yes, it is." Edward returned the smile, his gaze moving swiftly across the brightly illuminated room.

"All these people came here just to see you."

"You think so?" he asked in faux astonishment. "I highly doubt it. I assume they are here mostly for the wine and the host."

"Oh, no, I think not. Everyone has come to see the handsome Englishman," said Isabella, pronouncing the last word with a British accent.

Edward laughed. "Well, technically, I'm not English. I'm American. An American who stayed in England for—"

"—almost six years." Isabella blushed at the realization of completing his sentence.

"Surely, six years hardly turns an American into English. Besides Americans mostly think the English are snobbish, stuck-up, cold—"

"Slightly different from Americans, yes. Nevertheless, that hardly makes you a dull aristocratic gentleman in the midst of these fine, young men here."

"Do you consider me English?" asked Edward, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"A little," she replied honestly when she thought of the slight British accent he had acquired over the years. Their gazes held each other for a moment before Isabella went on. "But you cannot tell me you have not been reading the papers."

She noticed a couple of girls standing at the left corner of the room, staring in their direction. Isabella was highly certain they were not interested in her gown but in the man with whom she danced with.

Edward followed her gaze. "The ladies will be disappointed," he said, before bringing his gaze back to her. "I have no desires to ask any of them to marry me. I have already given myself to another."

Isabella almost lost her footing but quickly regained her balance with the support of Edward's arm. Her cheeks flamed at the embarrassment of doing so during the waltz and in front of guests.

"I'm afraid," she said, confused. "I fail to understand what you mean." The words tumbled out of her mouth as they both slowly stopped dancing.

They were standing in the middle of the ballroom with elegantly dressed couples circling around them. Isabella failed to notice any of the occupants in the room apart from the man whose green eyes were staring at her with an expression of guilt written in them.

"Isabella, I have to tell you—"

"Oh, look what we have here." Rosalie's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "Isn't this lovely?" she continued, removing her silver Venetian mask. Her bright red décolletage satin gown swayed with each movement, capturing gazes of the people in the room. Mark Wallace and Royce King stood behind her like two statues. Royce appeared to be apathetic but suddenly displayed an interest when he noticed Edward's presence while Mark turned away, avoiding Isabella as if she were a plague.

"I must say," Rosalie carried on, oblivious to the sudden discomfort that suddenly appeared on Edward's countenance. "I was certain that you would find Isabella at the ball first. Perhaps she is the one you ought to marry." She smiled, folding her arms across her chest. "Unfortunately, he has already _chosen _me, fate be damned." She walked closer to Edward, her gloved hand resting on his cheek while Isabella watched.

"You are_ marrying_ Rose?" Isabella's words came out in a whisper tangled with shock and sadness.

"Yes," Rosalie replied, not sparing her best friend a glance, but looking at her future husband. "He asked me to marry him this afternoon in the garden. It was a delightful proposal, which I have now decided to accept."

Edward's gaze met Isabella's and he shot her a pleading look. "You must forgive me. I had intended to tell you before Rosalie…" he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence.

"Had I known you would be surprised, I would have told you earlier myself. After all, you were aware of how deeply I felt for Edward especially with all those letters I wrote to him."

"I suppose…" Isabella's throat had closed up. An avalanche of feelings rushed through her. "Congratulations on your betrothal. Please, you must allow me to be excused," she said and then departed from them abruptly.

~o~

Isabella's feet darted as fast they could along the curved staircase. She was certain that if she had left an audience watching her, they were sure to regard such behavior as uncouth. Her mother was definitely going to reproach her for that display, but Isabella could hardly bring herself to care.

She held her gown and ran down the long hallway that led to her bedroom, as she had once run when Edward sent a letter to her for the very first time. She was sure that if her dear friend, Alice, were present, she would have been shouting after her. And for once, Isabella wished she was.

She opened the doors to her room and closed them behind her. Her back pressed against them as, finally, tears rolled down her face. Isabella had thought it impossible for her heart to feel heavier than it did when Edward had paid no attention to her these past few days. However, the news of their betrothal seemed to add a few bricks on it. She felt heavy with a certain kind of grief—as if a part of her had died. And perhaps it had. The part that had hoped that Edward would realize that he loved her and not Rosalie had died the moment he had proposed to Rosalie.

Isabella moved to the table beside her bed. Trembling, she took out her treasured sketchbook to find the drawings she had once made of Edward. The dark lines she had drawn of his face brought no comfort. She fell to her knees, the book landing on the floor beside her and reached under her bed to pull out the box of letters she had hidden, but she found only an empty, opened box. Fear gripped her and she wondered if she had mistakenly pushed the letters out of the box in her search. So Isabella reached back under the bed, but still found nothing.

Realization dawned on her heavily.

Rosalie had taken Edward, and now she had taken the letters, too.

* * *

_I just want to thank Mrs Boyscout, TwiDi, Phoenixhunter47 and Regina for pre-reading, editing and offering suggestions. And I especially want to thank Sandi for her awesome beta work on this chapter. _

_Thank you dear readers for your patience and for reading and reviewing. I'm really sorry for the wait on this. _

_Let me know what you think. _


	10. A Game of Affection

_A/N_: For Pree.

_Disclaimer_: Oh, how I wish I owned this.

_Quick recap of the last chapter_: Edward proposed to Rosalie. Rosalie gave her consent at the masked ball. And Isabella found out after the announcement of Rosalie and Edward's betrothal that Rosalie had taken her letters.

* * *

A Game of Affection

_How should we like it were stars to burn_  
_With a passion for us we could not return?_  
_If equal affection cannot be,_  
_Let the more loving one be me._  
~ W.H. Auden

~o~

"Sir Tristan looked mightily handsome at the ball," complimented Vera as she put her lady's blond hair into a single braid. Vera and her fellow maids had gained the opportunity of observing the ball by peeking through the door that led to the ballroom.

"Oh, spare me, Vera. I have no interest whatsoever in how handsome Tristan looked," the young Miss Hale replied in a tone tipped with ennui.

Rosalie felt a great deal of irritation that her new maid fancied Sir Tristan and presumed to indulge her fascination by conversing about it. However, she also felt a tiny bit of pity for Vera, for she knew that her affection was a waste since Sir Tristan was above her station.

The only maid who was capable of overcoming such eminence was Alice Brandon, and Vera proved to lack the courage that Alice possessed when she claimed to be Jasper Whitlock's wife.

"Oh, but so was the young Mr. Cullen," the maid went on, trying to please her mistress by diverting the discourse to a topic that might shed more attention on Rosalie. "The other maids heard talk about how much of a handsome couple you two made last night."

"Yes, we did make a very handsome couple, did we not?" Rosalie smiled. "Papa looked so happy." It had been the first time she had seen a smile on him in years. Mr. Hale hardly ever smiled or looked that pleasant. _So pleasant to be rid of me_, she thought, continuing with her cross-stitch.

"Everyone at the ball just couldn't stop looking at the two of you."

"I bet they thought it impossible that I could marry such a respectable man. Did you see Lady Stanley and her cousin, Mrs. Wilson? Looking at me with something resembling jealousy, no doubt." Rosalie laughed, recollecting their condescending looks in the ballroom when it had been noted that she and Edward had shared more than two dances, which indicated they were engaged. "It was all very amusing. And, after Lady Cullen—my soon to be mother in-law—announced our engagement, I swear I could hear Mrs. Wilson's gasp. I am sure she must have thought her daughter, our lovely, innocent Priscilla would capture Edward's—"

The door to Rosalie's bedroom opened abruptly and cut that train of conversation short. Rosalie looked at the mirror sitting on the dressing table in front of her and saw Isabella's reflection. Isabella was standing by the door, dressed in a light brown cloak.

Vera had momentarily stopped dressing her mistress's hair at the sudden interruption, so Rosalie waved for her to continue.

"Dearest friend," Rosalie greeted. "I must say I was not expecting your lovely presence in my bedroom this morning. We are to be at breakfast in a few—"

"How dare you!" Isabella employed an indignant tone. "How dare you take my letters, Rosalie?" Her brown eyes shot rage at Rosalie's reflection.

Rosalie had never quite seen Isabella so greatly vexed before. "Your letters?" asked she, in a serene voice and with an expression that suggested her manner was not in the least bit altered by Isabella's vexation. "Why, I seem to think otherwise considering it is _my _name written on them."

"They do not belong to you. You _never_ wrote to him."

"Ah, yes. And yet, somehow, the gentleman is under the impression that I did and I am in love with him and he, me." Rosalie pierced the embroidery cloth with her needle. "Pray, tell me what am I supposed to do about this?"

Isabella moved toward Rosalie's direction and stood next to Vera. "A completely misguided notion! I told you about those letters, Rosalie. It was my decision that you should act as you did—"

Rosalie's gaze rose up to meet her friend's reflection in the mirror, and she put down her sewing on the dressing table. "Tell me, Bella, what is this really about? Surely, you could not have barged in here to discuss a bunch of letters."

"You cannot marry Edward."

"I believe I can."

"You care nothing for him!" Isabella cried, shock lacing her words.

"Well, that's not entirely true. I do care about his prospects." Rosalie sighed. "He asked me to marry him, should I have refused him when everyone knew about his affection for me? Do you suggest I jilt him now, so that half of the women in Forks may hope to gain his affection, and, with time, his name?"

"Is that what this is about?" asked Isabella, incredulous. "Capturing the opportunity to be his wife before he no longer showers you with adoration and affection?"

"I don't know, Bella. How long did you expect me to go on with this charade? It was your decision after all. You were the one who proclaimed to love him using my name. What did you predict—that he'd come to Forks and marry you?"

Isabella's rage faltered. "You do not love him."

"What is love anyway?" Rosalie turned away from the mirror to look at her friend while Vera stepped aside. "Why should it be necessary for marriage? Our parents never married for love, and love _destroys_, Bella. Why would I ever want to feel such an emotion that makes me vulnerable for another person to destroy? Why should you either? Do you think he cares for you? If he did, why did he not realize that you wrote the letters?"

Rosalie's words confounded Isabella's fears but she forced herself to speak. "He does love me, the letters—"

"—prove nothing. Even if he did love you, surely you did not think he'd love you after he found out you deceived him. What sort of person lies to the one they love? Tell me, Bella, for I am naïve when it comes to this game of affection. Do you think he will love you after he found out that his affection for me happened to be actually for you? Do you think he will accept you then?"

A tremor slid through Isabella's body. "He loves me," she whispered, albeit her thoughts were a tapestry of insecurities and uncertainties. "He loves me," she repeated, mostly as an assurance to herself.

"Yet, he asked me to marry him. He does not realize the difference between who wrote the letters and who claimed to. Love ought to be able to recognize, do you not agree? Clearly, his affection for you cannot be sincere."

Tears filled Isabella's eyes. "You cannot marry him!"

"Sadly, I intend to." Rosalie stood up from the stool. "You see, he is going to be beneficial to me. I would no longer need to be under Papa's roof. You see how Father treats me," she carried on, walking to the window, "like I'm a plague. Yesterday was the first time he acknowledged my presence in months." She held the curtain, speaking more to herself than to Isabella. "I no longer wish to be here."

Rosalie turned to beseech Isabella with her gaze. "You must understand, Isabella. You must forgive me for doing this," her voice had softened, "but even you can see the positive outcome in this. Edward _will _break your heart. I am doing this for the both of us."

Disbelief colored Isabella's countenance. She could hardly believe what Rosalie was saying. "No you are not!" she cried, and then took a deep breath to comport herself. "I have supported you in everything, Rosalie." Isabella walked toward Rosalie. "But what you ask of me is too great. I cannot support you in this. I cannot allow it. I love him deeply. I always have. And you are," she swallowed, "you are being selfish and deceitful. Yes, I lied to him but only because I wanted his happiness."

"I suppose we are both deceitful, no matter the reasons," said Rosalie. "You deceived him with the letters, and I, well, I am just finishing what you started."

~o~

The worst time of Alice Whitlock née Brandon's life had finally arrived and she had decided to accept it unwillingly. She sat at the periphery of her bed and stared at her window. Her gaze caught nothing, even though Forks had bloomed in the spring, creating a lovely image of the garden. The sun had risen, and for once, Alice had resented it.

The night before had been difficult. Alice had not slept but stayed in her husband's arms, thinking that if she were to close her eyes, she would lose one second of his beloved sight. One second of his love. One second of him. And she dared not part with him yet.

They had made love many times that night, and finally Jasper had succumbed to sleep. Conversely, she, herself, could not. So she stayed awake and watched him. Her hands darted over his face, his skin and through his hair, committing everything to memory. A memory that she hoped would keep her together until he returned.

Alice willed herself not to cry. She could not cry, for that would be accepting defeat, and defeat would be accepting that Jasper would not return.

Alice's gaze moved to her hands, where they rested on her lap. Her maid had dressed Alice in an exquisite ensemble of a green, long-sleeved blouse and a long grey skirt. Alice raised her trembling hands to her face. _These hands_, she thought, _would not touch Jasper until his term was over_. She wrapped her hands around herself, as if the embrace could bring her comfort.

"My love," Jasper called from the doorway. "I must leave now, and meet with the Captain—"

"I know," replied Alice, although she knew nothing except that Jasper was leaving her.

Jasper walked toward Alice and knelt down in front of her. "I know this is hard." He placed his head on her lap. "It brings me sadness to part from you, but we knew this time would come."

Alice swallowed, hoping that would help unclog the emotions in her throat. Her fingers skimmed through his hair. Alice wanted to speak but could not find the words. Closing her eyes, a tear fell into Jasper's hair. She turned her head to the side so he would not see her cry, albeit his head was still resting on her lap.

"Say something, my love." Jasper raised his head. "Say anything. You cannot expect me to leave without a word from you."

Alice could feel his melancholic gaze on her face, but she could not look at him. She did not want to say good bye. If she said those words, it might kill the possibility of him ever returning to her.

"Tell me you love me," Jasper continued. Alice had always been one to offer support and reassurances, the one who always looked toward the future but she had no words for him now. "Tell me anything," he pleaded.

Then, Jasper pulled her face to his, and his lips sought hers. He slid his tongue into her mouth and tasted the tears of his wife before he stopped kissing her at once.

"My lord?" The housekeeper knocked the opened door. "My lord, it saddens me to interrupt but they require your presence downstairs."

"I will be there in a moment," said Jasper, and then the housekeeper left. He looked at his wife. "I love you. I love you more than anything. It grieves me to know that I must go but I will return. So be safe. I will write you. I love you." He stood up, kissed her forehead and left.

As soon as he left, silence and loneliness slipped into the room. Alice looked at the side of her bed Jasper had slept on—it still dipped due to his presence on it a few moments ago. However, now it was vacant. As vacant as the hole in her chest.

Alice began to reason that she could not let Jasper leave without telling him she loved him. She would not say good bye but she would tell him she loved him.

With that thought, Alice stood up from her bed and ran. She moved hastily down the steps, almost colliding with one of the housemaids as she ran outside the house.

"Jasper!" she cried, running after the stagecoach. "Jasper! Wait, please!" Tears fell from her eyes as Alice ran. "Jasper!" she shrieked.

The stagecoach stopped suddenly at the bend of the road that led to the main city, where Jasper would take the train to meet his fellow soldiers in New York before they made their way to the Philippines.

Jasper came down from the stagecoach and Alice ran straight into his arms. Panting, she kissed his face—his forehead, his nose, his cheeks and finally his lips.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she said.

After they had assured each other that they would see one another again, he left.

~o~

Edward Cullen had thought all his problems would be solved once he announced his engagement to Rosalie Hale. He thought that any feelings he possessed for Isabella would be obliterated as soon as he declared his affection for Miss Hale.

Unfortunately, that had not been the case. On the contrary, Edward had been tormented with the recollection of Isabella's countenance when Rosalie voiced out their betrothal. He could not comprehend why she appeared to be distraught by such news, nor could he comprehend why he was burdened by Isabella's distress. Perhaps she had expected him to tell her sooner considering the fact that they were close friends. Edward wanted to talk to Isabella, though he had no knowledge of what he would say when he was finally presented with the chance.

Such a chance never came. For if she saw him down the hallway of the Swan manor, Isabella would turn away and presumably go to her bedroom even if that was not her destination in the first place. During breakfast, she barely ate and never caught his gaze. When Edward tried to converse with her, Isabella excused herself, leaving him in the presence of Rosalie who went on and on about the wedding.

Edward knew that his thoughts should have been occupied with the wedding, but he was more concerned about a beautiful brunette who read books and poetry and had decided to ignore his presence for whatever reason. Dear heavens, what had become of him?

"The wedding bands will be arriving from _Tiffany & Co. _next week," said Rosalie. "I can hardly wait."

"Now now, Rosalie, there are other important matters to discuss besides wedding bands." Esme placed on her eyeglasses. "We still have not decided on the total number of guests to be invited."

"A date has not even been set yet," Rosalie responded. There was a hint of disappointment in her tone.

"Just as soon as things are sorted out, we will. We have to find out and ensure the arrival of our friends from England. I know Edward will want Emmett as his best man, won't you, Edward?"

"Pardon?" asked Edward, who had not been paying attention to their conversation.

"Sweetheart." Esme removed her eyeglasses. "Is something the matter?" his affectionate mother asked with concern glowing in her eyes. "You have been somewhat distant lately. I hope nothing is wrong."

"No, Mother. Everything is absolutely fine," he replied, reaching for a glass of whiskey but then immediately stopping himself before his action could belie his words.

He felt his mother's curious gaze on him as Renée said, "You know how men are about weddings, Esme. The poor boy is probably bored with our conversation."

"Perhaps he needs to spend some time with me," Rosalie interjected. "We've hardly been able to speak to each other since the engagement. He must be missing my company terribly." She looked at Edward with a charming smile.

"Ah, yes. Indeed, that must be it," Edward agreed, though it was not. However, he was missing someone _else's_ company. "You must excuse me, ladies. I have errands to run." He stood up and walked over to his mother.

Esme lifted her head to look at him when he approached her. Bending a bit, Edward kissed her cheek before walking out of the parlor.

Once he was outside, Edward called for the stable boy to bring his horse. After he had mounted his horse, he galloped away from the manor.

It was not long before Edward found himself in Forks' Central market. He gave the reins a tug to stop the horse. Edward was surrounded by crates and open wagons filled with all sorts of farm produce. There were bushel baskets containing various fruits and vegetables. Bananas hung inside the tents of traders. Young boys pushed small carts of beef and meat.

A young boy rolling a wheelbarrow of oranges passed Edward. "Oranges!" the boy called out. "Oranges! Oranges! Get your oranges here!"

A little girl, who looked ten years of age, approached him with a bouquet of flowers. "Sir, would you like to buy some flowers for your lady bride?" she asked in a soft, childish tone.

Edward looked at her and then caught a glance of a middle-aged woman watching their exchange. He assumed that she was the girl's mother. "No…" he answered, looking at the girl with an expression of guilt for not buying a flower from her. The girl returned his gaze with sad eyes at being rejected. "All right," said Edward, "I suppose I could have that lovely white lily in your hand for a few cents."

The girl handed the flower to him and he gave her the money. Isabella liked flowers. Edward had once caught a glimpse of her plucking some from the garden. Perhaps she would appreciate this white lily and forgive him for whatever offence he committed.

At that thought, he cursed himself. Rosalie was the woman he ought to give the flower to, she was his bride-to-be. Edward held the stem of the flower between his lips and grabbed the reins of his horse.

As soon as he was about to turn and head back to the Swan manor, Edward heard a familiar laughter amongst the noise of the marketplace. It was Isabella's laughter and it seemed to be coming from a couple of wagons in front of him.

Edward put his heels to his horse and moved farther along the road, peeking into the wagons he passed by and looking for her. He tried not to trample on a trader's produce along his way. And, as soon as he was able to find Jacob's wagon, it started to move down the street.

Edward then decided to follow them.

~o~

Jacob watched the young lady in his smithy with a high degree of fascination. He had thought that her countenance would express a great repugnance at the sight of his work place considering it was decidedly not a suitable place for a lady. However, Miss Swan proved him wrong. Instead, she seemed genuinely curious and possessed a naïve charm about the tools and objects in his shop.

Jacob smiled when Isabella's gloved hand reached for one of the objects lying on the anvil but immediately withdrew, as if she had recollected her manners. On top of the anvil sat a couple of twisted nails he had used to construct an intricate design, next to it was a bunch of keys he had made for his cousin, Seth.

"What is that?" asked Isabella, staring at the twisted iron nails. Each nail curved around the other like a snake, forming a loop, with points of the nail sticking out at the end of every loop. It looked like a necklace of nails.

"Just something I made." Jacob slid his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and leaned slightly against the door. "Sometimes, I tend to create unusual objects from the metals in my spare time."

The twisted nails arrested her attention. "Do you ever sell them?"

"No," he answered, folding his arms across his chest. "I doubt most people would want to buy them. There are other things that are in higher demand like wagon springs, candle stick holders, farming tools or cooking utensils, horseshoes…though I fear that horseshoes may no longer be needed once people start using electric cars."

"Do you enjoy it?" Her gaze finally moved to Jacob.

"Blacksmithing? Yes, I find it to be an art." He moved away from the door and crossed to the opposite side of the room. "Not, of course, like the kind of art you might enjoy," he smiled, "but an art in the sense that it requires skill to create something out of a metal. Not everyone can be a blacksmith."

"Oh, I do not doubt that." Isabella turned away from the nails and glanced at the forge.

"I also find that the life of a smith is simple compared to that of the upper class. They pride themselves too much on material things instead of focusing on what really matters." Jacob tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. There were so many cracks in it. "It all seems too much to handle if they can disregard the value of friendship all just for the feeling of comfort and security."

Isabella let out a deep breath, as if doing so would somehow alleviate the feeling in her chest. "You should not generalize."

"Perhaps I should not." Jacob brought his gaze back to hers. "Then again, I do not know much."

There was an interval of silence as Isabella moved around the table separating them toward the door.

"I do know," Jacob started to fill the silence, "that you are a very beautiful woman, smart and different, and you do not deserve to suffer this way."

"I suppose you think I have brought it upon myself," said Isabella, staring out the window. She watched as a young boy ran to catch up with his mother down the street. "Oh, how I have made a terrible mess of things, Jacob."

"But it can be fixed." Jacob walked toward her. "You just have to tell him. Think about your friendship. Do you truly want him to get married without knowing the truth…even if he loves Rosalie? You have to give him a chance to make his own decisions. He has to know, Isabella, so you can free yourself from this…burden."

Isabella's gaze dropped to her hands, like a child who was being admonished for disobeying her parents. "I must tell him, then."

"Yes."

"Tonight."

A look of understanding passed between them.

~o~

Edward had waited patiently at the corner of Jacob's street, hiding behind the side of a building, until Isabella left. He felt like some sort of criminal, especially when an old lady with a walking stick had caught him. The look she gave him before she shook her head and passed reminded him of the admonishing glares Esme had given him when he was a child.

When Isabella left, Edward had watched her and the blacksmith carefully. It appeared that the boy was insisting on accompanying her to the Swan manor, but she had declined, and for that, Edward was grateful…until he thought of the danger that she could encounter on her way back. Minutes after their minor argument, Edward had seen the blacksmith hand something wrapped in a brown cloth to Isabella.

An emotion classified as rage, perhaps disgust, or conceivably jealousy overcame Edward. He struggled hard to prevent himself from marching at once to meet the couple. Nevertheless, when Isabella finally left, he got his chance and stomped all the way to the blacksmith's workplace.

Edward's hands curled involuntary into fists as he approached the entrance. The door was still opened, as Jacob did not shut it when his visitor left. Finding the blacksmith standing over his anvil looking at something, Edward tapped the boy's shoulder. When the boy turned, he received a nasty blow from Edward.

Reeling back in pain, the blacksmith held his jaw and turned to look at his attacker. "What the devil!" But before he could even comprehend this sudden intrusion, Edward's knee connected with his stomach and he fell to the ground.

"I know," Edward started, flexing his palms, "that it is not in your nature to be a gentleman. Seeing as you are a blacksmith, you have hardly been taught anything about how to act in the presence of a lady. Therefore, I am going to take it upon myself to inform you that forcing a lady or persuading her to come _unchaperoned_ to such a…" He glanced around, taking note of his environment. "Filthy place to do God knows what is highly unacceptable! How dare you tarnish her reputation by bringing her here? Is it your plan to ensure that you take away her dignity so you can entrap her into marriage?"

The boy who lay on the floor, breathless and clutching his stomach, looked at Edward and then doubled back in both laughter and pain. "I suppose," said Jacob in between breaths, "that barging into someone else's shop without invitation and attacking him is considered _gentlemanly_," he finished with a sneer.

"Were it not for the fact that she is in love with you, I would have you arrested!" said Edward.

"And for what reason?" asked the blacksmith, standing up slowly from the floor. "That it was her choice to come here?" He placed his hand on the table beside him to support himself. "I bring no women back to my place, unless they ask to come, Mr. Cullen." He smiled devilishly, wiping away the blood from his injured lip with the back of his hand.

"You scum!" Edward thrust forward, wrapping his hands around Jacob's neck.

He roughly slammed Jacob's body against the wall, his fingers curling around Jacob's throat. Struggling to breathe, Jacob tried to pry off Edward's fingers and, when he failed, used his head to knock Edward's before he was finally released. However, the brawl did not stop there. Jacob punched the side of Edward's head and withdrew his hand back in pain. Edward took advantage of the opportunity, wrapping his hands around Jacob's waist in an attempt to throw him back against the floor. Unfortunately for him, Jacob was fast and kneed Edward in the sternum. The two men fell to the floor with a thud. Edward fell backwards, pulling Jacob along with him.

"What do you care why she comes here?" asked Jacob, holding Edward to the floor. "I do not see how her whereabouts should concern you."

"She is my friend! Of course I care about the type of company she keeps," retorted Edward, pushing Jacob off him and pinning him instead.

"Do you, now?" A knowing smile spread across Jacob's face.

Edward was almost tempted to wipe it off by punching him again, but he resisted. He had to think of Isabella, as much as he did not want to: she was in love with this boy. All Edward wanted to do was make sure Jacob understood clearly the kind of lady that loved him and how she needed to be treated. He wanted Jacob to stop taking her for granted.

"You think you are incredibly smart, Mr. Cullen, do you not?" Jacob interrupted Edward's thoughts. "Then you should ask yourself this: why do you care so much?"

"I fail to see how my feelings on this matter should concern you."

"Really?" asked Jacob, his tone laced with sarcasm. "If it does not then why are you here beating me about it?"

Edward stared into the blacksmith's eyes for a moment. His eyes were dark, almost as dark as the cold coal in that forge behind them. After a while, Edward pulled away from Jacob. Turning away from the sprawled boy on the ground, he ran his hands through his hair, paced a bit and took a deep breath.

"I only came here to warn you that if you possess an inch of affection for Isabella, it would be wise to take great care when you are in her company. She cannot be seen constantly with you all over town—"

Jacob slowly stood up. "Bella can do whatever she likes."

Edward turned to look at him in annoyance. He was not sure whether his annoyance stemmed from the air of nonchalance with which Jacob had uttered his response or that he had called Isabella 'Bella'. "Have you no regard for her reputation? Do you not care what other people would think of her?"

"Do you?" he replied, picking up the dirty handkerchief on the table to wipe away the blood that had trailed down his jaw.

"_What?_"

Jacob licked his lip. "Do you care, Mr. Cullen? More importantly," Jacob dusted his trousers, "do you have any care at all for her feelings?"

He walked toward Edward and poked his chest. Edward's gaze slowly descended to Jacob's finger.

"Look to yourself, Mr. Cullen, before you go barking up a tree," said Jacob. "_I_ am not trying to destroy Bella's reputation."

Edward stared at Jacob carefully, and suddenly he realized what his anger had not allowed him to see. All this time, he had thought Jacob's intentions toward Isabella were not genuine, but as he looked at Jacob, an emotion flickered in the young blacksmith's eyes.

"Good God," said Edward, drawing back in astonishment. "You truly like her, don't you?"

Jacob turned away, as if to hide a secret. "Who would not?" he asked. "Besides, what does that matter?"

Edward blinked in confusion. "But I thought…"

Jacob turned back to Edward. "You thought wrong," he said, "I am not the one she wants."

~o~

Isabella picked up her violin from its black case. She sat on the stool next to the mirror in her bedroom. Tilting the end of the violin, she placed her chin against the chinrest of the instrument. She held her bow with her right hand and brought it to meet the strings of the violin. The bow greeted the strings with a cry. The sound was almost a relief…almost, but not quite.

Isabella began playing the _Moonlight Sonata_. The first movement—_adagio sostenuto_ —was a perfect description of her anguish and the heartbreak she was sure to cause when she finally told Edward the truth. The violin, as always, was able to express her unhappiness. And, as the sonata moved to the _allegretto_, it helped build the fortitude she would need when the time came. The third movement of the piece —the _presto agitato_ —almost expressed the anger and betrayal she knew Edward would feel when he learned that it was she who wrote those letters.

Footsteps slowly approached her bedroom door out in the hallway. And when the knob of the door twisted slightly, Isabella placed the tip of her finger lightly on the string to increase the pitch of the music.

The door swung open, blowing a small wind to her direction. Isabella's gaze swiftly moved to the door, and there, standing in the hallway, was Edward. Her fingers trembled slightly on the string, causing a slight dissonance as the end of the piece slowly drifted in the atmosphere between them.

Isabella stopped playing at once, placing the violin to stand on her lap with the bow. Edward looked absolutely terrible. His clothes were disheveled—the collar of his formal dress shirt was undone, and she could notice that there were blood stains decorating the lapels of his frock coat. Edward's handsome face had been swollen with bruises and his cheeks appeared to be flushed. His right knuckles were glistening red, and his hand was clutching a white lily, which looked like it had been trampled on.

Despite his appearance, Edward's dishevelment was not what brought the feelings of anxiety and compunction in Isabella, but the expression on his face. His countenance wore an expression of bewilderment intertwined with resentment.

The atmosphere between them sizzled in an uncomfortable silence, as Edward's icy green eyes revealed that he had finally discovered the truth.

* * *

_I want to express my gratitude to Mrs Boyscout, TwiDi, Regina and LJ Summers for all their input. Seriously, this wouldn't even be close to what it is without them._

_And thank you dear readers, for your patience, and for reading and reviewing. I truly appreciate it._

_Till next chapter! In the meantime, what do you think will happen next?_


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